Come Here
by ATemporarilyLostPhyz
Summary: SEQUEL to Come-Hither. The gang ends up at Draco's villa. Adventures and explorations ensue, but amidst these and the hormones that thunder, it is ultimately a battle against time and Voldemort himself.
1. Villa Sweet Villa

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**Villa **_**Sweet**_** Villa**

"'_...Harry and Draco deserve their newfound happiness, and we wish them the very best!'_"

For some time after this ringing blessing, no one spoke but the sound of their feet treading the pathway of earth that wound towards their destination. Moving away from the sea and hence its salty signature in the air, and approaching more greenery of the vineyard, a new, wonderful, earthly smell was beginning to entice Harry's nose.

"What else is in there?" asked Dean idly, as he walked.

"Lots!" answered Seamus, rifling through _The Hogwarts Howler_. "You have ghosts speculating about life – no, it's longevity, sorry – er, study schedules-"

"Study schedules, really?" asked Hermione, with sudden and very surprised interest.

"Yeah," replied Seamus, still looking through. "You got, er, wait, I think I saw – oh, yes. 'FISHY FLITWICK – What You Don't Know about Your Charming Charms Teacher.' I have a feeling it's something we don't want to know."

"Ha! They caught him!" laughed Ron. "Do they have a picture of Flitwick with his 'gelf-friend'? Let me see that!"

But Seamus moved faster than Ron did to avoid _The Hogwarts Howler_ being ripped from his hands.

"Flitwick's shagging an elf?" asked Seamus.

"Parvati told us way back," said Ron quickly. "Let me see, you sod!"

Seamus retreated to the other side of Dean to read the tabloid safely from there. "'The Aggrieved Girls Speak Out: What Does Pansy Parkinson Plan to Do to Move on, and What Does Cho Chang Think about Harry Ditching Her for Another Boy?'"

"Pfft, what can they do?" scoffed Ron boisterously. "Let them drown in their sorrows, or hook up together!"

"Ron!" exclaimed Hermione, clearly scandalized by the suggestion of two girls together in such a way, even as she was ironically in full support of the case of opposite sex, which was Harry and Draco.

"What?" asked Ron mutinously, and then continued in the slightest of whispers, "It's a sight better than the other way around."

"'The Ramming on the Ramparts' – that will be interesting," continued Seamus loudly, while he rustled the tabloid with equal volume.

"Ooh, let me see!" said Ron, with a resurgence of excitement, but Seamus scurried around Dean and yet again evaded Ron's grasp.

"How well can you see without them?" Draco asked Harry, who was squinting at the ground as he walked carefully as though it were something to be done with concentration, but at Draco's voice he looked up at him and shrugged his shoulders.

"Not too bad, I guess," Harry replied. He wasn't comfortable with telling Draco the truth that he really was at his wit's end here – that the world was as well as one hazy blur of confusion. Apart from feeling understandably uncomfortable and disorientated, he also felt castrated – a feeling heightened when he felt Draco squeeze his hand in a supportive gesture, though Draco didn't speak any further of the issue but looked ahead of them.

"So," said Harry, wishing to move away from his eyesight and resenting the supportive gesture quite sharply, "what were you been doing in there for the whole afternoon yesterday?"

"Nothing," replied Draco, "just looking around – memories. Read a couple of books from the Reading Room-"

"The 'Reading Room'?" said Harry, with an odd and rather cute little giggle that left Harry a little embarrassed.

While a silver-blond lock sparkled in the morning sunshine, Draco smiled as he glanced at Harry's lips as though appreciating the origin of that giggle.

"Yeah," Draco said softly, immersing himself in reminiscence. "Father usually insisted I start calling it by its proper name – the library, but Mother didn't have a problem with my name for it. The place hasn't changed at all. We sometimes used to spend our holidays for a while here when I was younger, more than in the other villas. It's quite nice, you'll see it." He then looked indicatively at the grey-stone villa looming closer and closer, just a few yards away.

"Uhm, Harry," began Hermione, without exactly looking at Harry, who promptly turned to her. "I've—we've been meaning to ask you..."

Ron turned to Hermione with an expression that said he couldn't believe she dared raise the issue, while Dean and Seamus looked on with cautious curiosity.

"Yeah?" said Harry, as Draco watched Hermione closely over him.

"That—that thing," stuttered Hermione, "I mean, I—we haven't had a chance to ask you this, because, well, the situation didn't call for it and we were still recovering and the deaths as well and the lessons and then-"

"Hermione, what's up?" asked Harry.

"Well," hedged Hermione, as though she hadn't sought Harry's attention in the first place and as she plainly fought with herself from wringing Ron's hand in her own, "we all saw it..." She looked around at the others, her eyes seeking support and confirmation. "That green dragon in the sky – three of them – was—was that you? But it must be," breathed Hermione nervously, "but I—we don't know for sure, but since that night on the Quidditch pitch and you doing that flamethrower thing and we know how you can get out of control sometimes and-"

"Yeah, it was me, you were right," said Harry to more to save Hermione from her incoherent babbling, and he said it quite unabashedly, which was quite contrary to Hermione's demeanour.

"Oh!" said Hermione shortly, and she subsided thereafter, but even as that was, Harry could feel something lingering in the air at the end of her voice.

"Wow," said Seamus, shaking his head in awe as he stared at Harry. "Just another page in the book of adventures of the ever-popular and now all-powerful Harry Potter!"

Harry was glad Seamus found it amusing, because he certainly didn't; that night brought too many feelings back, and not good feelings at all. He hoped he would be able to sleep tonight. A year-round Quidditch ban wasn't nearly severe a punishment, he thought, not nearly, not for the deaths...

"I can say the same for whoever cast that Biner-Lumous Charm," Harry remarked. "Lit up the bloody sky."

"That was me!" said Ron, with a proud grin and punching his fist in the air.

"After you tried it ten times before, you mean," quipped Seamus, with a smirk.

"And that werewolf was this close to swiping off my backside," said Dean, to the accompaniment of laughter from everyone. "It really was in the nick of time. Literally saved my arse, Ron did."

Everybody laughed at a grimacing Ron, who, Harry suspected, would have loved to have saved any other body part of Dean's besides his arse, a physical focal point of homosexuality, which Ron must want no part of after that stunning revelation that he had apparently been attracted to Harry, though it was revealed later he had been confused.

Just a few metres later, a humming sensation rippled through Harry's body, but his and the other visitor's incomprehension didn't last long, for Draco then explained, "We have breached the wards. Welcome home."

* * *

The first thing Harry became aware of when they entered the villa was a very curious and very thick but pleasant aroma much like that of vanilla essence, which he would smell whenever Aunt Petunia baked something to impress – that is to say, claim for herself – the new neighbours; it was a soft and sweet scent, seductively easy to get used to. The first thing he realized visually was that the villa seemed – with his poor vision – little more than an ordinary, if slightly more tasteful house, though it was true the only thing his impaired vision could register was the foyer in which they stood. Draco took his hand and went to the right, where it darkened slightly. He heard the rest following them, perhaps deeming it discourteous to tour the house without the owner.

"What's with the smell?" Harry heard Ron ask, a question to which he would like the answer as well, together with Hermione, Dean, and Seamus, he believed.

Harry didn't hear Draco give an answer.

Wordlessly, Draco directed them through several rooms, the sight of which Harry couldn't enjoy because of his lack of glasses and because Draco had been moving swiftly, but that which his friends apparently were, if Hermione's pleased exclamations and Dean's and Seamus' noises of appreciation were anything to go by. It decidedly irked Harry much, but all this was forgiven when Draco approached a large, mahogany door, to which Harry saw a pale hand extend.

"And out here you have..." said Draco in an aloof, almost exhausted voice which Harry knew he employed whenever he downplayed things that didn't deserve it, such as the apparent beauty of the sight he revealed, judging by Hermione's long gasp on his left.

Even with his abysmal vision, it looked as though a mini Garden of Eden had just sprung into life right in front of his face. On either sides of his vision as he looked ahead at a spot where there blinked white sparks which suggested that a large pond or the like resided there, partially bordered by big brown structures he assumed to be large boulders and over which some insects buzzed, as his ears were working quite satisfactorily, were long, winding, lush, cleanly cut hedges over which a few white animals of avian form frolicked – perhaps peacocks. The grass, he could faintly see, funnily enough, stretched out in front of them in alternating shades of green rather resembling the Quidditch pitch. Far from them, close to the barely discernible end of the garden, there pranced a few blobs resembling four-legged animals the likes of which Harry had never seen before, but then at that moment he remembered Draco telling him something about weird creatures in some garden of his family's, and he opened his mouth to suggest this, but Draco softly cut across him in a tone which suggested that he knew that Harry was aboard the same train of thought.

"Phiggles," said Draco, with a smile that also bore that casualness as had his voice when opening the door. Then he pointed to some similar looking, though less attractive animals just after the small herd of 'phiggles'. "And those are the giffies I told you about too."

Harry indeed remembered Draco telling him about these sort of animals when he had _Sacrifice_d Professor Strolm's lesson for a steamy tryst with him.

"Whatsa—phigami—wha...?" asked Seamus, his face twisted in confusion as he peered at the gambolling animals.

"A giffy," said Draco, "a cross between a hippogriff and a phiggle."

"'Giffies'? 'Phiggles'?" said Ron, looking between said creatures and Draco as he shook his head as though appalled that such animals existed or unfortunately assigned such names.

"Ah, those phiggles look so cute!" squeaked Hermione, to the accompaniment of Ron's and Seamus' nostrils flaring in contempt. "Can we ride on-?"

"Absolutely not, Granger!" said Draco strictly, and after his eyes darted to Harry, he said in less outraged tones, "They're delicate creatures, not built for human transportation, mark you."

"They're basically ponies, just prettier-looking," retorted Hermione, and before Draco could answer to this, she swept off back into the house, leaving the boys to attempt to appreciate whatever else the garden stored besides the contentious creatures by the names of phiggles and giffies, and there was no doubt in Harry's mind where Hermione was headed, remembering one of Draco's favourite places which he had shared upon approaching the villa.

The garden was littered with trees here and there of varying types and sizes. The largest one stood high and proud close to the middle of the vast garden, not far from the pond. Unlike its smaller companions, which appeared professionally cut and styled, this tree was left to grow naturally for a very long time, as the countless rings on its bark indicated.

Very vaguely, Harry could spy various other creatures closer to them, such as brown, white-spotted bunnies which hopped about, a few birds of some kind flying and squawking overhead with grey plumages and blue undersides – they merely looked grey to Harry. Overall, the garden, as he 'saw' it, had both a kempt and natural look to it, which felt nicely appealing to Harry.

"Sweet!" said Dean, nodding his head and smiling as he gazed at the garden.

Harry stood there, not bothering to move his head sideways and around as though looking at and appreciating the garden as Dean was capable of doing. He felt robbed; he couldn't enjoy the sight as much as anyone else could. It heightened his sense of castration, of impairment. Never in his life had he had to confront such impairment. True, he relied on man-made objects to go about – his glasses – but he had still been functional, still able to experience, able to appreciate what his sight presented him, even if it largely left much to be desired. Oddly enough, Harry found himself missing his too-large glasses; they had been, it felt, an intrinsic part of him.

Harry felt Draco squeeze his hand, and the accompanying sense of indignation at it pulled him out of his self-pity. He didn't want Draco to think of him as handicapped, or more terribly an invalid, but here he was, barely able to see the beautiful garden stretched out in front of him readily for his eyes to savour.

The seconds stretched, and each one was as tangible as their robes. Perhaps feeling a little uncomfortable or bored, Dean and Seamus eventually sloughed off them while he and Draco stood there hand in hand, and they didn't move when Dean and Seamus' footsteps faded into the house, though after about a minute of studying the blurred fauna and flora in front of him, Harry felt Draco give him another squeeze, and he rather felt Draco staring at him than saw it. Harry, however, was concentrating on the farthest parts of the garden he could not see.

_We've been through the storm,_

_We've been through it all_

Draco gave another, more urgent squeeze. Harry felt his stare for another spell before he finally said, in a quiet voice, "We deserve this, Harry. Finally, we're here."

_We had some close calls but never would fall._

_We climbed all the mountains,_

_Walked through all the valleys,_

_But you never left me behind..._

"We do?" asked Harry. "Do we deserve to rest now that we had survived and others haven't?"

"I didn't mean it like that," said Draco, after a pause and in a tone that wasn't absolutely convincing.

"I suppose you slept well, didn't you?" asked Harry, as he remained staring at the hazy distance. "You weren't replaying those sounds in your head, weren't you, that twig that snapped and sent Colin... And Parvati..." Suddenly, Harry couldn't stop swallowing against the lump in his throat. It was burning, scorching, leaving his eyes red and tearful.

Draco kept looking at him closely from his side.

"You really cared about them, didn't you?"

"That surprises you?"

Draco didn't speak for a moment, and then he said, "It's not as if I'm not haunted by it too, you know."

"Sure don't look—no, it sure doesn't sound like it, at least," said Harry. "You sound as if we have finally made it to this wonderful paradise without having it at a cost."

"Argh, pissing Pixies, don't bloody do this now, please, Potter..."

Harry slipped his hand from Draco's, and he finally turned to him. He just looked at the pale, handsome face, the locks of hair hanging softly on his shoulders, looking at heartless beauty. "Don't bloody do what?"

_How could you be so heartless?_

"This whole guilt tripping yourself thing you keep doing to yourself," said Draco exasperatedly. "It's almost pathetic, really. It wasn't your fault, Harry," he insisted sternly.

_How could you be so... cold?_

_As the winter wind when it breeze yo_

"Wasn't it me who told him he could come?"

Draco seemed short of an answer for several seconds. "Sure, I was surprised he was there in the first place, but that was probably after he went on his knees and begged you to no end, right?"

Harry didn't answer.

Draco sighed. "They knew what they were getting themselves into – bottom line."

"It's that simple..." said Harry faintly, not knowing whether he was asking or stating it.

"Yeah, it is," said Draco ruthlessly. "You have nothing to feel guilty of. They knew the dangers, just as I did-"

"But you weren't taken down by a-"

"Yes, I wasn't, but I knew what I was getting myself into from the beginning and I would never blame you if it happened to me – if could, that is... Harry, for Merlin's sake, please don't do this to yourself!"

Harry looked at Draco, his head slightly tilted to the side, his arms itching to cross themselves. He then looked ahead of him at the blurry garden; did he deserve this, this survival with Draco, while some of his friends were wiped away from the earth, did he have licence to celebrate his and Draco's and his friends' lives on this earth?

Draco leant on the door frame, facing Harry, and took him by the hips, squinting into his eyes in a serious manner. This gave Harry a worse emotion – emasculation. He felt it should have been him to hold Draco like this, not him being done so.

Draco exhaled tensely. "Harry, you..." The open, sincere expression on his face faltered, and he looked down at the ground. "You..." Again, after these words, Draco looked down at the ground, his cheeks beginning to glow pink. To Harry, this rather looked like a new instrument that squeaked on first try and then gradually smoothened out until it played wonderfully. It was a new, unprecedented demeanour he was witnessing from Draco that Draco wasn't used to. Draco did look cute when he was trying to be sincere, and the side of Harry's lips reluctantly twitched in amusement. "You... you're the most... Argh, fuck it. Come, let's just go inside, can't we?" Draco took Harry by the hand and with bashful swiftness again, swept them off, while Harry silently giggled at him.

When they returned to the middle of the house, they were greeted by Hermione's noises of excitement.

"This place is so amazing!" squealed Hermione with fervour, her eyes illuminated as they bounced about the house. Seeing Hermione so excited about the interior design of the villa was the closest to girly Harry had ever seen her, as Hermione wasn't one to fawn over decor or the latest trend in manicures. Hermione hissed and smacked her lips almost lustfully while her arms flailed at the air, attempting to at least brush every surface they could as she capered through the various rooms. This, together with Draco's failed attempts at open sincerity, managed to put a smile on Harry's face and gently brush away the rehashed memories of the werewolf assault to the back of his mind.

There were three beige suede couches: the longest, three-seater settee facing the door and the other two identical two-seaters facing each other, all of which surrounded an antique mahogany desk which, Harry noticed with a breathtaking jolt to his stomach, was intricately chiselled, bearing the stunningly wrought double 'M' and on top of which lay two books. Harry shook off the spurt of disturbing images that raced through his head. Dean and Seamus were sitting on one two-seater, while Ron sat on the other, possibly waiting for Hermione to join him once her joyful voice came near. This left the three-seater empty, onto which Draco now lowered them and sat.

"This is a sweet pozzy you got here, Malfoy—Draco," observed Seamus, with a sudden blush. "But what's that smell?" he asked for the second time. "Smells like when me mom's baking for the church again..."

"It bothers you?" drawled Draco, raising an eyebrow lazily.

"Er, no!" said Seamus in alarm. "No, it doesn't! Not at all! Smells... nice! Like home!"

"Thank you," said Draco, with no emotion in his voice.

Seamus cleared his throat, his face a brilliant pink. Plainly trying to redeem himself, "So when is the wine served, anyway, Jeanie Mac?" he asked, as he rubbed his stomach as though wine were a staple food.

"Saturday and Sunday afternoon," answered Draco dispassionately.

Seamus looked at Draco with surprise, as did everyone, including Harry, who hadn't expected such an exact answer.

"So no wine till Saturday?" asked Seamus with longing in his voice, seemingly forgetting for a moment his attempts at appeasing himself to Draco.

"No wine till Saturday, Seamus," said Draco, in confirmation. "Only Father sometimes used to open a bottle as he wished."

"Paradise... Eye of the beholder, innit...?" muttered a disillusioned Seamus to Dean, who chuckled at him.

Hermione whirled into the room from nowhere in a storm of robes and limbs, and hair. "Ha! Can't believe we'll be staying here! So when are we discussing the sleeping arrangements?" she asked Draco.

"I would have thought that was obvious," drawled Draco, without looking at her.

Hermione's eyes darted to Harry as though asking him, 'What's with him?'

"No, it isn't, actually," she said tartly, as she placed a hand on her hip.

"Harry and I get the master bedroom. You can figure things out amongst yourself between the three other rooms."

"Fine," said Hermione, shrugging her shoulders carelessly before she went to sit down with Ron, who gladly welcomed her. "But this... aroma, it got thicker when I went past that door with the two diagonal lines. What is in there?"

This question rang alone without an answer for several heartbeats before Ron's stomach gave a vociferous growl.

Draco's eyes found Ron's slightly apologetic ones, whereupon Draco sighed and snapped his fingers. "Tibby?"

_POP!_

There was instant reaction: Harry flew from the couch and his wand was out in a matter of split seconds, as were Ron's, Seamus' and Dean's. Even Hermione was on her feet, hair vibrating in alarm.

"Bloody hell..." muttered Draco, shaking his head.

The elf, looking rather exceptionally classy and impeccably kept for an elf and wearing an emerald teacloth which shone iridescently with the Malfoy emblem, trembled as its big, wide eyes stared fearfully from each wand pointing at it.

"Wands away, if you please," drawled Draco. "You'll scare her off and then your stomach shouldn't be complaining." It couldn't be plainer particularly to whom he was referring.

A round of clearing throats ensued – the loudest of which was Ron's – as he, Harry, Dean and Seamus stowed their wands back into their robes.

"Mates, please be nice to the elf, won't you?" Ron suggested, as though he too hadn't reacted as they had, but then again hunger could make one do the strangest things.

"Tibby," said Draco, drawing the frightened elf's attention to him.

Tibby's knees shook visibly and her hands were fisted. Harry, half-blind as he was, could just about see Draco's silver-blond hair reflected in her bulging eyes.

"Yes, Master Draco!" Tibby squeaked.

"Could you get us lunch, please?"

"At once, Master Draco!" And she disappeared with a swift _POP!_ as though her departure couldn't have come sooner.

"Oi!" yelled Ron in outraged tones. "She didn't get our orders!"

"You're a beggar, Weasley, not a chooser here."

Ron's mouth fell open. He turned to Harry, who didn't console him in any way, and a horrified look slipped on Ron's face as he lowered himself to his seat, gulping.

"Breakfast is served at nine, lunch at one, and dinner at seven."

No-one responded to this; they all seemed frightened as though they had now officially deemed themselves at Draco's mercy.

It was a wait of several, very long minutes before Tibby returned with a loud _POP!_ and squeaked, levitating the six trays, "Lunch is served, Master Draco!"

All expressions of fear, resignation, and horrified realizations melted away as Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Hermione realized that they each had their own plates, which were quite elaborate and very laden with food.

"Thank you," said Draco very quickly and very quietly, which suggested he thought – at least in front of them – it was contemptible to be kind to a house-elf.

After this, all was forgiven and the slate was being cleaned as the sounds of sipping and swallowing and voracious hissing could be heard while they all tucked in.

About ten minutes later, they were all gaping and looking at each other blankly.

"What does a person do here all day?" asked Dean neutrally, or in what he hoped was a neutral tone, lest Draco find offense in it, as he had become a little testy after the vanilla aroma was mentioned by Seamus and then Hermione a while back.

No answer was offered.

"Tibby."

_POP!_

"Yes, Master Draco!"

No-one jumped this time.

"Please clean up, will you?"

"At once, Master Draco!"

The elf clicked her fingers, and the cutlery disappeared, but just before snapping her fingers again, perhaps to make herself disappear this time, her eyes ran from Hermione, around to Ron, Seamus, Dean, Draco and then finally Harry, whom had been obscured to the house-elf by Draco before. She seemed to shiver from the inside as she stared at Harry, but her eyes definitely grew wider and became imbued with perhaps a higher fear.

"Tibby," said Draco a little urgently.

_POP!_

And she was gone.

"Your name'll be going around the Manor, I expect," said Draco in an exasperated tone.

"What, she stays at Malfoy Manor?" asked Harry. "Isn't it... didn't those Death Eaters...?"

"Some of it, but it's mostly intact," said Draco. "They've probably repaired all of the damage if you know them."

"So you _do_ have house-elves at your house!" said Seamus, as he jumped to his feet. "Or manor!"

"An army of them," said Draco, sounding quite unimpressed, contrary to Seamus.

"Wow...!" said Seamus, and actually had the audacity and temerity to say, "Tibby!"

But there was no loud _POP!_ to announce the elf's return. Draco looked at Seamus with surprise and indignation as though Seamus had been rude.

Contritely, Seamus cleared his throat and lowered himself back into his seat.

No-one moved for several moments, and Draco didn't look inclined to offer any suggestions of anything they could do even as the host.

Hermione spontaneously stretched across Ron – whose eyes scanned her lustfully from left to right – to reach for the two books which lay on the desk.

Harry felt Draco stiffen next to him.

Hermione dropped back on her seat with a huff, shuffled the two books, and decided to open the one with the pale-blue cover first, which was open to a page.

"Multiple-Time-Set Portkeys?" said Hermione, frowning at Draco, who then took the other book and placed it on his lap. Just before he had closed the book, Harry had spied the bold and elegantly penned words, '...I had never been prouder of you than I was on that night of 21st August...'

"Portkeys that activate at multiple times," said Draco flatly. "I made it and used it to return to Hogwarts just before we went to Hogsmeade."

"Oh," said Hermione, rifling through the book while her frown remained.

"What's that?" Harry asked Draco, as he pointed to the brown-leather-covered, diary-sized book which lay on Draco's lap.

"Nothing, just a legacy from Father," said Draco, as he folded his arms and put his weight on it as though wary that Harry would snatch it from him.

Harry had a great suspicion that a legacy from Draco's father wasn't just 'nothing'.

"This book should be made illegal..." breathed Hermione, in a voice filled with awe rather than contempt. "It's like getting the answer books for your O. W. L.s... How not to Leave a Magical Signature – asterisk – as if that makes it any better, How to Make Your Own Floo Powder – I just know that's certifiably illegal; the only body allowed to produce Floo powder is the Department of Magical Transportation in the Ministry of Magic – How to Disguise Your True Intentions-"

"There're more interesting things to read," said Seamus, sticking his nose in the air and placing _The Hogwarts Howler_ on the table with a flourish.

"Ooh!" said Ron, with resurging excitement without the slightest consideration for Hermione. "Go to that ramming ramparts section thing you were talking about, Seamus!" He went to his knees and shifted the tabloid so that he could see as well.

Harry admittedly did feel a little curious about what Parvati and Lavender had put together, so with an apologetic look at a clearly offended Hermione, he dropped to his knees before the table, crossed his arms, and then stared down at... the blurry tabloid... He couldn't read it. As surreptitiously as he could, he looked around Dean, Seamus, and Ron through his fringe, wondering if they would have the courtesy to read the tabloid aloud. His sense of castration heightened yet again. But just then, he heard and then saw Draco getting onto his knees and making himself interested in _The Hogwarts Howler_, and Harry was of the opinion he really wasn't.

"I want the ramming!" growled Ron, as he fought with Dean and Seamus for _The Hogwarts Howler_.

"I wanna see the interview!" yelled Seamus angrily, pulling on the tabloid in the opposite direction.

"I wanna see the Shout Box!" shouted Dean, pulling triangularly at the tabloid.

"I want the Shout Box too!" amended Ron, with another heave for the paper.

"Oi! Can we just read it from the beginning to the end, or is that simply beneath you?" asked Draco, but his words were lost in the yells and grunts and growls from the other boys.

It took Hermione blasting the three boys apart to restore calm.

"Thank you, Granger," said Draco, as he exhaled and smoothed out the nearly tattered tabloid. "Would you like to do the honours?" he asked her.

"Er, sorry?" said Hermione in a distracted way, as she was glaring reprovingly at the boys and with her wand still in her hand threateningly.

"Would you like to read it?" asked Draco again.

"Would I—read it...?" Hermione's confused expression remained until her eyes darted to Harry and then she said, "Oh! Oh, okay, yes, I—I will read, uhm..." She went to her knees, shot a final, deadly glare at the other three boys, who had returned to the table sporting brilliant blue shiners, and then started to read _The Hogwarts Howler_:

* * *

Issue #1

01 October 1995

20 Sickles

**Parvati Patil & Lavender Brown**

**Present**

**THE**

**HOGWARTS**

**HOWLER**

Your Weekly Source of Only the Most Spell-Binding Titbits in Hogwarts!

TODAY IN THE HOWLER!

_**THE TITBITE! **_

HARRY & DRACO, THE HOLY & THE DAMNED – The story of two boys who were never meant to be...Page 2

_**THE TITBITS!**_

GALEFORCE GAYS GALORE – Harry and Draco's Relationship Inspires Other Gay Couples to Spring out of the Closet! Anonymous interview inside: "I Kissed a Boy and I Liked It!"...Page 3

PEEK-A-BOO – I SEE YOU! – What in Merlin's Name Was Cormack Doing to Wendy in That Classroom? ...Page 4

MALFUNCTIONING GLAMOURS – Jenny Weaver Is Not Who We Think She Is! ...Page 5

FISHY FLITWICK – What You Don't Know about Your Charming Charms Teacher...Page 6

MORE HOWLING

The Aggrieved Girls Speak out: What Does Pansy Parkinson Plan to Do to Move on, and What Does Cho Chang Think about Harry Ditching Her for Another Boy?...Page 7

Third-Year Hufflepuff Boy Eludes Certain Death after Falling into the Great Lake... Page 7

Are You Ready for Your OWLs or NEWTs? Recommended study schedule inside...Page 7

REGULAR HOWLS

Apparitions Air Words of Wisdom – Advice from Our Friendly Ghosts...Page 8

The Fat Lady's Couch – What Does the Painted Grapevine Have in Store?...Page 8

Academic Assistance – Ask the Ravenclaws...Page 9 [Hermione's eyebrow rose.]

Helping Hands – Let the Hufflepuffs Heal You...Page 9 ["How fitting," observed Draco.]

The Ramming on the Ramparts – Who Fancies Who & Who's Ramming Who...Page 10 ["Ooooh! Turn the page!" said Ron excitedly.]

Hogwarts Hunk & Damsel of the Week (Vote now! Winners receive gifts!)...Page 10 ["Three guesses who," said Ron knowingly.]

Fashion Feats & Fashion Flops...Page 10 ["They should think about revising the price of this thing," remarked Hermione down her nose.]

Current Competitive Standings...Back Cover

Magical Calendar

Interesting Info

!Shout Box! ["I have a feeling that's gonna be interesting," remarked Seamus.]

[Ron flipped the whole of page seven over.

"Ron!"

"What? I don't wanna read about Parkinson moaning and Cho snivelling."

"Fair enough."]

**Apparitions Air Words of Wisdom**

Advice from Our Friendly Ghosts

**Nearly Headless Nick** – On the Subject of Longevity

["What's he gonna tell us?" scoffed Ron in amusement, as he skimmed Nearly Headless Nick's paragraph. "How to axe our heads off properly if we don't get it right the first time?"

"But wouldn't that not fall under 'longevity'?" asked Dean.]

**The Fat Friar** – How to Stay Cheery No Matter What!

["Yeah, aren't they just the cheery bunch?" said Ron. "I'm dying to see what kind of fluff they're spouting in the Shout Box."]

**The Gray Lady** – Words of Life and Caution

["Hm," said Hermione, her lips pursing as she stared down at the Gray Lady's discourse. "Don't those Ravenclaws just think they know everything? Ask the apt, all-knowing Ravenclaws." She then made a scathing noise and temporarily turned away from the paper, hence Seamus took over the reading.]

**The Bloody Baron** – _unfit to comment_

[Ron snorted. "You think?"]

**Professor Binns** – _declined to comment_

[They all laughed out loudly – even Hermione.]

**The Fat Lady's Couch**

What Does the Painted Grapevine Have in Store?

["Uh-oh," said Harry, smiling.]

"Calling all portraits! Violet and I will be hosting a massive Portraits' Party! It'll be in Veronica's living room on the sixth floor, the twelfth portrait from the left stairs! All are welcome! We will keep you posted with the details via the painted grapevine!

"I beseech any Hogwarts student to remove Sir Cadogan's portrait from the wall, if he's in there at some point. He actually thinks he's amusing these days.

"And that Deblois banshee is such a [expurgated]! Merlin forbid! Violet and I refuse to speak to her now! She's so stingy with her chinwag! And that's why she's jolly well not invited to the Portraits' Party, by the way!"

[Hermione turned the page and took over the reading. "Sadly, I agree with her, Ron, don't you?"

"Much so," replied Ron, undoubtedly remembering the staunch woman in Dumbledore's office who had proved disagreeable in helping them figure out Harry's whereabouts.]

**Academic Assistance **

Ask the Ravenclaws

Here is where common problem areas in subjects are dealt with. Post any question/s you would like answered. Remember to include the subject, name of the topic, and most importantly, your year of study. Below are the forthcoming sections of Academic Assistance:

Aiming for 'A' in Astrology

Attacking Ancient Runes Rigorously

Cheating the Charms

Coping with Care of Magical Creatures

Dealing with Defence Against the Dark Arts

Doable Divination

Trivializing Transfiguration

Mastering Muggle Studies

Passing Potions

Remedying Herbology

Making History of Magic Headaches History

_All questions should be referred to Padma Patil or Professor Flitwick of Ravenclaw._

**Helping Hands**

Let the Hufflepuffs Heal You...

This is the Agony Aunt equivalent...

[Harry and Hermione chortled at this.]

...For _The Hogwarts Howler_. Lay your soul bare with the Hufflepuffs and allow them to heal you from the inside out, from questions of spirituality to those about your body (keep it clean, please).

_Spiritual_

As the religions and their possible denominations of Hogwarts students are unknown and most probably vast, it has been decided that only Merlinytes (Merlin-reverent fans, not worshippers) may practice on Hogwarts grounds.

We wish to start a Merlin study group. If you would like to join, please jot down or tear off the following particulars:

Date: Sunday, 5th October

Venue: 4th floor, 3rd classroom on right from left

Time: 09:30 – 12:00

First book on the agenda will be _Merlin the Mighty_ and then we will discuss _The Era of Excalibur_ by Pariah Abrahams. If Madam Pince doesn't have a copy for you, we will make one for you.

_Physical_

What potions Professor Slughorn recommends for good all-round physical health.

["Physical health?" spluttered Ron, lips trembling, while everyone else laughed. "What's Slughorn gonna tell us about physical health? His belly's the first thing we see round the corner! I know it better than I know his face!]

_Mental_

Professor Sprout's herbal concoction can give you a better attention span and mental alertness! Just toss one back in History of Magic and you may have an actual chance of passing that O. W. L.! Just ask a Hufflepuff prefect or go to Professor Sprout directly for more info!

["I'll stick to Hermione's notes, thanks," said Ron. "After knock-out mandrakes, what's next?"]

_All questions may be referred to Shelly Haffock or Professor Sprout of Hufflepuff._

[Hermione turned the page. "Hermione might not always feel too generous with her notes, you know."]

**The Ramming on the Ramparts**

Who Fancies Whom and Who's Ramming Whom

Harry and Draco are an item (needless to say!).

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan are doing it (Finnigan usually has a limp on every other day. But can you imagine getting that chocolate hose all the way up your [expurgated]? It must be huge!).

[Seamus' mouth dropped open, while Dean wore an amused, if flattered smirk.]

Cormack's ramming Wendy (obviously, because we covered them in _THE TITBITS!_ section – they were doing the nasty in the Astronomy Tower – Peeves caught them).

[Ron hissed sympathetically. "Imagine that. Anyone but Peeves while you're at it, bloody hell."

"How about Filch, then?" suggested Harry maliciously.

"Ah! Harry, you murder me!" said Ron dramatically, screwing his eyes shut. "Eurgh!"

"What if he starts beating off while he's watching?" said Seamus with a wicked grin.

There was swift uproar at the table and disgusted calls of, "No, Seamus, man!"]

Neville Longbottom and Fatima Swinehouse are starting things up (euuwww!).

["Quite right," agreed Draco, looking more disturbed by this than by Seamus.]

Cho Chang and Michael Corner soon to be, we think (we promise to keep you up to date! Beautiful couple, aren't they?).

[Everyone's eye went to Harry, including Draco's, most importantly. Harry tried with all his might not to show any reaction.]

**The Hogwarts Hunk of the Week**

58% Draco Malfoy (S)

27% Blaise Zabini (S)

14% Michael Corner (G)

01% Dean Thomas (G)

["At least you're here, Deanie," said Seamus, who looked at Dean with pride, even though Dean could only boast a single percentage point.

"Yeah, it's probably only because of my 'chocolate hose,'" said Dean. "Girls are so..." He stopped here, and Harry felt relief on his behalf for not finishing the sentence.]

"It's that hair of his, I'm telling you. I've never seen hair like that in my life, on any girl, no less... No wonder Harry is so, so crazy about him!" – Angelina Johnson (G)

"It's the way he walks, and the way he looks at you, you know? I swear to Merlin those eyes touch my soul every time they pass me." – Daphne Greengrass (S)

"I sort of liked him before but not anymore, really. He's kinda skin and bones now, isn't he? And he's always been too short for my liking, but one thing I can say for him absolutely is his skin – it's amazing. See, Michael Corner is someone I would go for now (not that I'm saying), and besides, Malfoy's done an about turn, eh? Popping boy-cherries now, or _his_ is getting popped... Oh my god, I so nearly fainted – I just pictured Malfoy bending over and Harry..." – Sharon Hops (R)

[Ron cleared his throat and pulled at his collar to relieve some steam.]

"Absolutely love him! Top to bottom! I would dip his whole body in chocolate and lick him all the way! I LOVE YOU, DRACO! EVEN IF YOU DO SWING THE OTHER WAY!" – Euforica Forbes (H)

["Argh! Spare us the smut, Huffie," said Ron, with a grimace, turning away from the words as though they smelled foul.

"When the bloody hell did Parvati and Lavender work on this?" Harry asked, in confused wonderment as to when did Parvati and Lavender found time to create even a poll and take down student comments.

Hermione made a disapproving noise. "I don't even want to answer that. Now I know why all those owls in the girl's dormitory yesterday afternoon..."]

**The Hogwarts Damsel of the Week**

44% Giselle Preston (R)

["Who is she?" asked Ron. "I've never seen her if she's so fetching half the school thinks so."

Harry had nearly asked this precise question, but he caught himself before he could embarrass himself. He could imagine just how much it would highlight his homosexuality if he had asked it. A straight boy surely must know who was the hottest girl in the school, right? He looked to Dean and Seamus, who looked back at him. They shared twitches of their lips that were nonetheless done away with quickly.

"This other tall girl with the short chestnut hair and olive eyes," supplied Hermione, looking down at the tabloid paper with a precariously balanced stare. "She is rather beautiful, I guess, though I think that fake beauty spot of hers helps."

"You couldn't let it go, I just knew it!" said Ron, in a profoundly knowing tone as he shook his head.

"I'm only stating fact, Ron!" said Hermione indignantly.

"Sure you are," said Ron, his lips clearly pursed, something which Harry still found amazing to witness on Ron's face. Ron had never before been in any advantageous position in intelligence, finance, or performance to justify the pursing of his lips at someone. It was something Harry thought Ron was rather enjoying to great extent.

As though she had judged that she couldn't win this argument verbally, Hermione plunged her elbow into Ron's side, thereby prompting Ron's coughing fit. This was an unfortunate propensity of Hermione's.]

38% Cho Chang (R)

["Hm," said Ron, in an impressed, if hoarse voice after recovering from Hermione's assault. "Not bad, Harry. I mean, to know that you-you almost-before this..." He gestured extremely vaguely between Harry and Draco and looked back at _The Hogwarts Howler, _soundly flushed.]

14% Katie Bell (G)

["Mmnngh, she's all right, I guess," said Ron, looking aside to consult Harry, who nodded in modest agreement, followed by Dean. Harry thought Draco didn't react because he didn't know what Katie Bell looked like, and Seamus – well, Harry couldn't think up of any other reason for his lack of reaction other than that Seamus was so positively, thoroughly, certifiably gay that if Aishwarya Rai walked past him he wouldn't bat an eyelid.]

04% Ginny Weasley (G)

[Upon seeing this name, Ron recoiled with a slight frown, just as Dean found yet another loose thread on his school robe.

"Hm," said Hermione, looking between Ginny's name and Ron's frowning face with vicious triumph. "Ginny made the cut. I wonder just who voted for-"

"Perverted tossers, that's who they are," said Ron quietly, making a dismissive noise and moving onto the next section. He still looked a little dazed and violated.]

**Fashion Feats & Fashion Flops**

Fashion Feats

Giselle Preston (R) – Her diamond earrings and bangles – beautiful, darling – not too loud at all. Where did you buy them?

Cho Chang (R) – Her natural beauty. We salute you for wearing your natural self and not resorting to any make up like some people we know! Go, Cho! Is it a traditional thing, btw?

Beverly Rodman (H) – Bringing back the Wrigley's Wand Wrapper/Struben & Stylus' Stick Strapper – A cute fashion flashback! I love the one you wrapped around your wand! I'm thinking of getting the same one for mine! It's sad the store near my home is so far away, though.

["What's this now?" asked Harry.

"A Stylus Strapper?" said Draco. "It's – er – sort of like a sticky wrapper you wrap around your wand. Comes in many different colours and many designs and patterns – teddy bears, flowers, Quidditch team names, Snitches, brooms, and so on, for personal expression. And," continued Draco after a pause, and a certain amount of satisfaction entered his voice, "they don't sell these in the shops in Hogsmeade, otherwise the first-years would have flocked for them, no doubt."

"So they're like tattoo stickers you stick around your whole wand?" asked Harry, forgetting himself.

Draco blinked twice as he stared at Harry and then looked away as though the question wasn't worthy of any of his efforts, be it consideration or even derision, though he subsequently snorted derisively under his breath, "Making something that's supposed to be permanent impermanent. It could only be them." This confirmed Harry's thought that Draco suspected that tattoo stickers were Muggle-made, and he was quite right.]

Ginny Weasley (G) – She's got that fiery flaming hair thing going on like no-one's Howler! You're hot stuff, girl! Keep working it!

Draco Malfoy (S) – Hair – there're no words for it! The shine, the length, that almost silver-ish glow of it! It's speech-taking! Silk silver shirt, watch, and tie clasp – brings out his silver eyes; dragon-hide boots and book bag – which girl doesn't like a bloke who has some mula?

Harry Potter (G) – Patented the whole just-woke-up/just-got-shagged hair look, together with that awkward-ish gait of his – I personally find him adorable, there's no other word for it too!

["Gait?" said Harry. "Do I walk funny or something?" he asked his fellow readers, who promptly broke into a fever of movement, which suggested they were not keen to answer his question.

"There's the Fashion Flops as well," proposed Hermione, overtly pointing to this while her other hand scratched the back of her wild hair."

"Hm, that's probably more interesting," agreed Ron promptly, sliding the tabloid upwards.

"Draco, do I walk funny?" Harry asked, rounding on Draco. In one hand, he couldn't believe he was asking this question to Draco because naturally he wanted to look good in front of his boyfriend, but on the other hand, he relished this opportunity to find out what Draco thought about him, even physique-wise.

"Don't worry, it's nothing serious – it's actually – what did they call it? – adorable."

"I don't want it to be adorable," said Harry, sounding offended that the way he walked was described as adorable. "But how do I...? Is it awkward, or weird, or funny or what...?" He also turned to Seamus for an answer, but Seamus was staring resolutely at _The Hogwarts Howler_, unwilling to commit himself.

"No," answered Draco, smiling tremulously, "It's nothing to worry about, honest. You don't walk funny at all."

"Then it wouldn't be in a paper circulating the whole of bloody Hogwarts if I didn't," said Harry sharply, as he tapped the tabloid a little testily.

Ron said, "Seamus walks with a limp on every other day, Harry, you should take comfort from that. Let's move on now."

Seamus punched Ron in the shoulder, to the accompaniment of Ron's surprised expression rather than any sounds of pain.]

Fashion Flops

Daphne Greengrass (S) – We quite agree with Pansy Parkinson on this one – please lose the heavy eyeliner – you look like an albino Chinese! No offence, Cho!

Hermione Granger (G) (sorry to do this to you, but the truth must prevail) – You have to do something about that hair. You should see yourself after Potions. Just saying it like it is.

Ernie Macmillian (H) – Rather dye your hair brunet or black, ʼcause blond ain't working out for you, mate.

Maria Edgecombe (H), Fatima Swinehouse (G) – LOSE WEIGHT! ASK SLUGHORN TO GIVE YOU SOMETHING, BUT DO SOMETHING, FOR MERLIN'S SAKE!

Justin Finch-Fletchley (H) – Lose the silver Bob Marley belt buckle.

Harry Potter (G) – So many girlfriends of mine have told me this, I can't even count them. They think you should seriously think about throwing away those 'windscreens' of yours and try other things. I happen to agree, darling...

["Well, we don't have to worry about that anymore, now do we?" said Harry wryly, referring to the fact that he couldn't wear his 'windscreens' even if he wanted to, as they no longer existed.]

...And your wardrobe needs more than an overhaul. Please review it for both our sake and yours – our imagination can only take us so far fantasizing you in black tights and muscle huggers while you go around in what you currently do.

["Wow," said Ron a little vaguely. It couldn't have been clearer that he was referring to Harry's fantastical attire.

Harry cared as little for this comment as he did the previous one about his then glasses – he didn't care what others thought of him except for Draco and his friends.

Hermione turned to the back cover with a sniff. "Because how a person looks is _so_ important in the bigger scheme of things."]

**Current Competitive Standings**

_House Points_

Gryffindor – 150

Hufflepuff – 175

Ravenclaw – 235

Slytherin – 80

_Quidditch_

Gryffindor – N/A

Hufflepuff – N/A

Ravenclaw – N/A

Slytherin – N/A

Quidditch season commences 7th October.

[An odd ripple ran along the boys.]

**Magical/School Calendar**

_4 October – Hogsmeade Trip _

[Perhaps except for Draco, this time the ripple ran along all of them; it might have been rue.]

12 October – Funeral of the late Professor Dumbledore

[Harry's heart skipped a beat. It was final.]

31 October – Halloween

5 November – Guy Fawkes

["Wait, what's that?" asked Ron.

"Bonfire Night," answered Hermione.

"And that's supposed to clear it up?" asked Ron, who clearly wasn't the wiser.

"Yes, what exactly is 'Bonfire Night', Granger?'" asked Draco briskly, in a light, patronizing tone that suggested he was holding back a piece of higher knowledge that they didn't.

"Well," said Hermione, her confidence suddenly plummeting visibly in the face of Draco's attention. "It's when people commemorate the capture of Guy Fawkes with bonfires and fireworks, and by burning an effigy of Guywhere."

"Hm, quite wrong, Granger," said Draco, still in that patronizing tone. "Try again, unless you're speaking of rural-people Guy Fawkes, then I'll understand-" Harry missed Draco's eyes darting speedily to Ron and then to him. "-or perhaps even Muggle Guy Fawkes."

"Just tell us what it is then," said Hermione stiffly, who looked clearly shocked to be challenged like this apart from being beaten as well.

"I'm rather tired of having to explain these things," said Draco dismissively, which seemed to fill Hermione with hot steam. "You can probably find it in some of the books in the Reading Room."

"Well, we're not exactly dying of curiosity to know, are we now?" said Hermione in a dismissive tone, clearly attempting to avoid embarrassment, and she glared all around her for them to show that they were indeed uninterested, but when these words failed to make headway, she turned to Ron and demanded unreasonably, "Ron, tell us what is Wizarding Guy Fawkes."

"Er, I'm the one supposed to be asking that question, Hermione," said Ron.

Draco made a derisive, amused noise.]

29 January – The Bloodbaths of Bath & Bristol

["And this?" asked Seamus.

Hermione took a moment to answer, and Harry caught her eye dart to Draco and back. "Well," she started in a confident voice, nevertheless, "it was the week that the bloodiest massacre happened in all of Wizarding history."

Harry, Dean, and Seamus continued to look at her, waiting for her to carry on. This time it appeared Ron was the wiser.

"Happened in the 1960s not far from here. It was when the Dark Lord nearly wiped out about a quarter of Britain in less than a week," said Draco quietly. "Murdered witches and wizards in untold ways in untold numbers in Bath and Bristol. It was when he was at the height of his power."

Harry's, Ron's, and Hermione's eyes met. Harry remembered Ron telling him about Voldemort wiping out nearly a quarter of Britain. He had thought that had been an exaggeration somewhat made in the heat of their argument that Wednesday, but today he has just found out it was fact and even declared a Wizarding holiday.]

_2 Feb – Hogsmeade Trip_

25 March – Sun of Merlin

[A blip flared in Harry's mind. "Hang on. Sun of Merlin, Sun of Merlin... Oh yeah, you told me about it!" he said to Draco.

"The day of Merlin's death," said Draco, nodding at Harry in acknowledgement.]

1 April – April Fool's Day

["You know," said Harry, thinking prominently of Fred and George, "somehow I knew of all the Muggle holidays, they would have this one in this calendar."]

_27 April – Hogsmeade Trip_

26 June – O. W. L. and N. E. W. T. examinations. There are 32 weeks (225 days) left!

[Hermione gasped in disbelief.]

28 June – Hogwarts Senior Students Graduation Day

25 August – King Arthur's Day

["King Arthur's birthday," said Draco. "It was also the day when the Changing of the Guard took place: the drawbridge was lowered, the guards would parade forward and backward on it. The villagers living near the castle would always come and watch." Whatever hostility that had sprouted between them momentarily, Hermione was now enraptured by Draco. "And also, three older crocodiles in the moat would be released – called the King's Pardon – and one young one would be slaughtered to be eaten at the Grand Ball that would take place that same day."

"Where did you read that?" asked Hermione quietly, as though her voice were stolen.

"Reading Room, third shelf, er, I think L-section – there's a book called _Medieval Moments of Magical Marvels: A Magical Calendar of the Marvellous Middle Ages _– I think it's in there. Oh, and to the right there's also _The Famous Tragedy of the Queen of Cornwall at Tintagel in Lyonnesse: A New Version of an Old Story Arranged as a Play for Mummers, in One Act, Requiring No Theatre or Scenery._ You won't find Guy Fawkes in that L-section, by the way – he was after the Middle Ages."

Although Hermione nodded calmly and looked back down at _The Hogwarts Howler _with reserve, Harry could almost feel her excitement to get her hands on that book.

"That's not a real book," said Ron, frowning at Draco, evidently challenging the existence of a book of such a ridiculously long name.

Draco neither responded nor reacted to this.]

18 September – St. Macbeth's Day

["Wait, let me guess," said Harry, as he raised his hand to stop any potentially forthcoming explanation. "This has to do with Shakespeare's character Macbeth?"

"How do you know Shakespeare?" asked Draco, with a deep frown as though the suggestion that Shakespeare's literature existed in the Muggle world were deeply offending.

"How do _you_ know him?" asked Harry in amazement, looking to Hermione, who now also appeared lightning-struck by Draco.

"Shakespeare is a very famous _wizard_ writer; he wrote many sonnets and stories and even collaborated with Beedle on a bit of children folklore."

"Well, Shakespeare's also very famous in the Muggle world," said Harry, at which point Draco's frown deepened.

"But that's impossible, Potter!"

"Er, hello, _The Hogwarts Howler_ here please," said Ron. "Or can I skip to the Shout Box, then?"

"No, don't," said Hermione distractedly, blinking rapidly as she looked back to the paper. Practically everyone could hear her brain working furiously.]

19 September – St. Hedwig's Day

["Oi, Hedwig has a day named after her," laughed Ron, while Harry smiled ruefully. It was probably the name of the person after which Harry had named Hedwig in one of his first-year books.]

**Interesting Info **

_Witch Weekly_

The annual Sexiest School Sprigs list for this year has been published! Hogwarts sits pretty at #4 with – of course, who else could it be? – Draco Malfoy! Cutest bloke on the planet! But he's practically number two – those Veelas shouldn't count at all! Ladies, go get your copy NOW! Some of those blokes in there look absolutely edible!

[Harry caught Seamus' eyes darting to Draco, while Ron caught Hermione's. The faint, rosy colour of Seamus' cheeks now turned a solid red, as did Hermione's. Harry and Ron exchanged glances but quickly looked away. After a moment of staring pointlessly at the hazy tabloid, Harry then looked to Draco, and pride suddenly burst from within him, not to mention the arousal. And _he's mine_. Harry quickly looked away from him, his penis and his brain in a furious competition for blood.]

_Which Broomstick?_

Nimbus GK2 Concept Broom will be showcased at Quasimodo's Quidditch Centre from the 11th to the 25th October. Sorry, boys! Maybe it will come down to Quality Quidditch Supplies after two years or so._.._

["Yeah, what's new?" snarled Ron, his face glowing red with apparent fury, and he let rip the most violent, bi-syllabic cluck of his tongue that Harry had ever heard from him and that would have prompted double takes from even African adults, who were the highest experts in doing this and who could do three-part clucks with relative ease. Draco seemed amused by this, while Harry's ears reared.

"A concept broom?" Harry asked in hinged amazement, very interested indeed. It was quite refreshing to be this interested in something light-hearted and to lose focus, even if temporarily, from the things he felt he had to accomplish that, with indecent simplicity, meant life and death.

"Like a concept car?" asked Dean swiftly, also wearing a similar expression of hinged wonderment.

"Mates, please don't right now," begged Ron, as he prohibitively raised a hand and as he closed his eyes as though he were deeply distressed. He then said in a low voice, "Happens every bloody time..."

"What do these brooms look like?" asked Seamus in one breath, frowning at Ron's peculiar reaction with awe, possibly imagining, as Harry surely was, how magnificent this Nimbus GK2 Concept Broom could look if it could have Ron of all people acting so emotionally.

Ron massaged the spot between his eyes with his raised hand as he shook his head, apparently refusing to answer any questions. "One day, I keep telling myself... one day..."

At this, Draco twitched his eyebrow roof-wards in derisive exasperation as he looked aside.]

**!SHOUT BOX!**

**Shout Your Say!**

Ignoraymus Simpleton (G) – "The ppl [who] wrote this thing didn't say how that butter-lip chic and that short camera-crazy tyke die... how did they die? And [what's this] DA thing?"

Marilyn Merry (H) – "Hello to all you Hogwarts Howlies! I just wanted to say how great this is that we students are finally getting what we want – our own platform to express ourselves! Many hugs and thanks to the late Parvati Patil for dreaming up _The Hogwarts Howler_! Oh and not forgetting Lavender Brown and the late Colin Creevey of course! I hope this publication will have a very satisfying impact on the students and that it will have a very long life! Lots of love to all and a special Shout out to all the Huffies in the House! Cedric, rest in please, handsome."

Pansy Parkinson (S) – "Daphne, please lose the eyeliner and grow your natural eyebrows back. I don't know who you're trying to fool."

Daphne Greengrass (S) – "Pansy, you should be the last person to be Shouting! You just got dumped by a poof! Hellooooo? I would've thought you would've had enough sense to make yourself scarce and hide that puggy face of yours! What-bloody-ever Draco saw in you, I don't know! Then again, we all know how you made him go to the Yule Ball with you!"

Robby Longhead (R) [The Wizard Chess Club] – "We are looking for new members for The Wizard Chess Club, as we are only four in number. If you want to join, please find your way to the fourteenth class on the right side of the hallway from the left on the fourth floor. Thank you in advance!"

Anonymous (?) – "Can the students of Hogwarts please deal with Bode and Malinga? Since they have recently found out that I have been secretly seeing another boy, they won't get off my back – no pun intended. Please, please help. Contemplating suicide."

[Hermione gasped before she made a furious noise. "This is ridiculous!" she said angrily, tearing shining in her eyes already, rather impressing Harry, who, together with the other boys, was reacting in sympathetic and discomforted ways. "Wanting to kill yourself just because you love someone the world says you shouldn't!" Hermione sniffed. "It's downright ridiculous!" Ron rubbed her back. "If—when we go back to Hogwarts, oh, these..." She glared down through her tears at _The Hogwarts Howler_ to find the relevant names. "..._Bode and Malinga _– stupid names, they won't know what hit them! There must be a spell to make someone think they're gay for a day or something – ooh, that'll be the perfect just desserts for them." She sniffed in conclusion, lips resolutely pressed so thinly upon each other that they had disappeared altogether.

Harry, while feeling slightly sorry for Bode and Malinga, for Hermione was on a warpath leading straight to them, scratched himself in various places, quite unsettled. It was a horrible thing to read. Another layer of naivety wore away as he learnt vaguely of the extent to which someone could be driven by harassment just for being different. Harry didn't think he could ever grasp the world and its ways; just when he thought he had finally managed to wrap his mind around it, a far bigger horror sprung into being.]

Jody Sprice (G) – "GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR, FOR THE QUIDDITCH CUP! GOOD LUCK FOR NEXTWEEK TUESDAY VS RAVENCLAW!"

Colin Davies (G) – "Selling stuff: _Standard Book of Spells_, Grade 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 – Gll3, Sk10, Kt5 each – they are all in great shape – not a single doggy flap; Loma Nisus' Self-Replenishing Colour Quill Set – Gll3, Sk11 – it's only the purple-ink quill that spits – it's rather feisty, otherwise all the others are still in good nick; _The Quidditching Times_ – Sk2, Kt20 – it might be seriously outdated but if you'd like to think of yourself as a bona fide Quidditch fan, you'll want to have one of these – be a fan, not just a supporter. I also got some special collector's edition Snitch discs of the Hollyhead Harpies and Tobago Tornados; Comet 62 broomstick – Gll12 – all it needs is just a few tweaks with a broom kit and it will be almost as good as new. Thanks."

Quinton Soiler (S) – "This place is going to the dogs... [Expurgated] popping up everywhere... [Expurgated] Potter and that Draco of his... Hogwarts is dead..."

Yolanda Sparks (G) [Gobstones Club] – "Hello, Hogwarts. We're also looking for new members for our Gobstones club. Meetings on Saturdays and Sundays two o'clock in seventh class on the left side from the left on the fourth floor. Thanks."

Bilius O'Reily (R) – "Are you Hogwartans taking this _Howler_ thing seriously? A school-wide tabloid newspaper designed to derail our attention from the all-important academics and rather fill our mind with frivolous tripe? I thought Hogwarts was better than that, but clearly I was wrong."

Kathleen Spinster (H) – "Hey, the beautiful people of hoggie Hogwarts! I just wanted to see my name in print and say Hufflepuff is hip!"

Stanley Rickman (G) – "Hi. I'm in year three and I'm looking for a tutor for Ancient Runes and Transfiguration – both are pains in the [expurgated] at the mo'. Willing to pay up to Gll3/hour. Thanks."

Anonymous (?) – "Someone should seriously tell McGonagall to stick her glasses up her [expurgated] and jump off the Astronomy Tower! Three bloody essays in one week?"

Anonymous (?) – "Hey, everyone! I and few friends and acquaintances of mine are thinking of starting a club for homosexual students. It can be something we can draw comfort, counselling, and support from. If we get enough people to join, we will make it official and name the social club after our heroes Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy as Drarry's Homosexuals Anonymous, or DHA for short. Of course we cannot reveal where we might hold the preliminary meeting or tell you the time, so we have proposed a means of making you aware of ourselves. If you would like join, then please be very attentive wherever you tread, you might catch our eye! Or maybe that should be, _we_ will catch _your_ eye!"

* * *

"They're naming gay social clubs after us?" asked Draco, in a tone of great indignation and astonishment.

"Apparently," said Hermione, her lips twitching.

Harry noted that _The Hogwarts Howler_ entirely ignored the war issue. It was good, he thought. At least one thing remained untainted.

"Are you finished?" asked Seamus, "I would like to read Harry & Draco again."

Harry and Draco blushed.

Incidentally, Harry remembered the words in the very article to which Seamus was referring: "..._Doing that staring thing at Draco like he always does."_

"Do I—Do I stare at you a lot?" he subsequently asked Draco, fumbling slightly with his fingers, uncertain about himself.

Seamus went still as Draco turned to Harry.

Ron turned to them, as did Hermione and Dean while they pretended to be busy doing something.

"Er, not too much," said Draco, as his lips trembled.

Harry, unconvinced, looked around tentatively to the others, who promptly returned to _The Hogwarts Howler_ even though they had all finished reading it at the same time.

Draco then came close and whispered in Harry's ear, "You can hardly be blamed, and besides, I like it when you do it."

Harry didn't meet Draco's eyes for several minutes to follow. He strongly wished he had enough courage to perform hara-kiri.

Hermione stood up in a whirl of girly scent and frizzy hair. "I will be in the Reading Room," she announced, before sweeping off, her hair disappearing behind a corner, leaving a disgruntled Ron behind.

"I wanna see it," said Harry, as he stood, and Draco followed suit.

"Me too," said Seamus, beside whom Dean stood up, wearing a grumpy expression, which was mirrored by Ron, who perhaps saw that if he didn't go as well he would be alone in the living room and who thus stood up and brought the rear of the convoy towards the library.

They entered past the threshold above which hung the words, _Libraria de Malfoy_.

It was a library the size of which nearly rivalled that of the Hogwarts library, or at least its front section.

Harry couldn't help feeling a sense of awed belittlement akin to that which he felt when he passed into Diagon Alley for the first time – that immeasurable feeling of amazement and feeling small in comparison to the establishments erected long before he was born, driven by an army of personnel. It was a feeling he felt when he experienced something big and new.

Harry wasn't too surprised that something bigger could be contained in something smaller than its size in the magical world, as he remembered the tent they had set up for the Quidditch World Cup.

Harry stood hand in hand with Draco in the middle of the circular library with his mouth slightly agape.

There were six sections, each denoted by the six letters in Malfoy. The northern section had books arranged such that together they formed by their spines a very large, golden 'M', the height of which was easily more than twice that of Harry. This was the case as well for section A, L, F, O, and Y. It was decidedly impressive.

Hermione, looking quite at home, was rifling through a green-leather book in the O-section, her eyes whizzing left and right, hair vibrating left and right. "Malfoy! Draco! You said that medieval book was in the L-section, yeah?"

"Yes."

Hermione nearly tripped as she practically ran to the L-section, reaching it with an almost orgiastic huff, looking for _Medieval Moments of Magical Marvels: A Magical Calendar of the Marvellous Middle Ages._

Meanwhile, Harry had gone over to the M-section, passing his hand over the spines.

Their childhoods were so different...

He picked out a book at random, turned it over, and looked at the unclear title that might have been _The Dominance of the Dark Arts: A Prelude_. Harry squinted, a sharp pang kicking at his chest. He almost wanted to cry. He looked around and put it down, thinking that Hermione wouldn't be too impressed with that particular book.

"But how do you...?" said Hermione, hopping for a book a little out of her reach from above. "How do you get to the ones at the top?"

This was a valid question, Harry thought, as he peered up the library, seeing how far the books stretched to the dome ceiling.

"You j-"

But before Draco could answer, something whipped into sight, there was a shrill scream of fright, and the next thing Harry saw was Hermione hanging on for dear life on a flat flying object that was perhaps supposed to lift her up towards the higher parts of the library.

"Well, there you go," finished Draco, under his breath.

"Are there Quidditch books in here?" asked Seamus, in a tone that bore little hope and over Hermione's grunts of effort as she tried to heave herself onto the flat flying object while she whizzed around the library above them, legs dangling. Ron clapped Dean on the head when he found his eyes fixed somewhere above them.

Draco wordlessly pointed at the F-section as he perused a book he was holding at the Y-section at the other end of the domed room. "It's wand-activated, Granger."

When Ron, Dean, and Seamus immediately scuttled over there, Harry cursed under his breath as he left the M-section for the F-section, angry with himself and feeling as though he had wasted valuable time.

"I warn you, though," said Draco, as he shot a glance at them, "it might get a little too technical and take the fun out of it. You see, it's rather more academic in here."

These words were proven true in a matter of seconds.

"So there aren't any books in here like _QC_?" asked Dean, pushing a book back on the shelf and frowning around the library as though it were offending him by its mere existence.

"It's _Quidditch of the Connoisseur_, Thomas, and no, you order special books like those."

Thereafter, there was a considerably less male presence in the Malfoy Library.

After Draco left the library – the last boy to do so – leaving Hermione to whizz through the books on her own and to fly from section to section on that flat flying 'hoover', as Draco had called it, much to Harry's amusement, he met with Harry and the others as they toured the house and tentatively – or at least for Harry – explored the garden, which Harry didn't really want to properly explore as yet – he thought it would spoil it for when he would get back his vision, for which he was still hoping, because he thought it impossible for him to live half-blind for the rest of his life. Draco lured him away from the others by taking him around the villa, through the vines, and they now approached the cliff close to where they had appeared with the Portkey a while ago.

"Do you like it?"

"It's brilliant," answered Harry with a slightly sad smile.

Draco's eyes held Harry's face for a while. He then looked ahead, his lips stretched, he looked back at Harry, and then said, "We'll get your sight back, Harry, I promise. We'll go to Winox Lane. We'll go to Shepstones' Special Services and get you new glasses or something."

"What's all this?" Harry asked, with the faintest ounce of fear and hence defensive disdain in his voice.

"Winox Lane, I guess it's the high-class version of Diagon Alley. There's a shop there called Shepstones' Special Services. Those witches are bloody brilliant – they'll make anything you request, hence the slogan, 'Your Reliable Source of Request-Based Services'. Not to mention they're easy on the eye also. Twins – double whammy, eh? Mother never liked the shop for some reason."

When Harry didn't respond but rather continued to watch the birds hopping and taking off on the rocks near the cliff face, Draco looked at them and said, "Jaegers – easy on the eye too but vicious. Nearly lost one of mine when I got too close when I was younger. Well, I couldn't blame it – I was trying to play with its chick, and mother hen just came out of nowhere and nearly gouged my eye out!"

Harry imagined a young Draco running away in fright, his white-blond hair shining golden in the dusky sunset which he could easily envisage as he now stared at the horizon, to where the midday sun was due.

"Harry?"

"Yeah."

"For Merlin's sake, say something, will you?"

"What do you want me to say?"

Draco promptly opened his mouth to answer this, but he apparently thought better of it, as he closed it and glared mildly at Harry. "What are you thinking?"

"Honestly?"

For some reason Draco hesitated. "Yeah," he said, nonetheless.

Harry squinted into the distant horizon, his arms now folded. "I just want all of this over with, okay? I just want to be free – truly free – and that can't happen until there don't exist a thing called Voldemort anymore." Draco shuddered at the name, at which point Harry turned to him. "Until that doesn't happen anymore."

"You're thinking too far into the future, Harry. Just shove that away for now. Let's stick it in for a while and then we can start... trying to kill... him." There was a discernible and abject absence of hope in his tone, the very precise thing Harry was talking about, that which he yearned to get rid of.

"But that's the thing, I can't wait to just have a holiday and then decide I want to start working. This is a matter of life and death, in case you didn't know – thousands of lives. Bloodbaths of Bath and Bristol? What makes you so sure history won't repeat itself?"

"I'm just saying you don't have to deal with everything at once and in one day. Take things one step at a time, is all. Bloody hell, Potter, you don't have to do things once and for all and all alone."

"Who said I was trying to?"

"I won't answer that for you," said Draco tartly, very much irking Harry.

They stood there for several more minutes to follow before they returned to the villa. It was quite a walk. Perhaps this fact was more apparent since it wasn't a morning sun anymore but rather the sun was shining directly over their heads in the scorching afternoon.

Although the villa and surrounding areas were very beautiful, Harry couldn't find a time when he yearned for a television set as strongly as he did now, and only then did the full picture of what he had done hit him. He had a whole year free, stretched out openly in front of him. It was bereft of a complexion – he didn't know what would follow except for what he had planned, but anything could happen. It was perhaps too much freedom, too much time, yet on the other hand the time seemed too little, at times, and the freedom non-existent, considering the bigger picture.

As the afternoon waned, Harry found himself returning to the door at which, when open, he could treat his eyes to the splendour of the villa's garden. It was something to be said for the garden to look so magnificent even if it looked hazy and unclear to Harry, who, now that he knew there was a possible answer out there – precisely at Shepstones' Special Services – couldn't wait to see it properly.

Hermione spent most of her time in the library, while her eyes grew more bloodshot and her hair even frizzier.

In the sitting room, Ron, Dean, and Seamus were looking over _Quidditch of the Connoisseur_ for the thousandth time and over some of the new but more academic Quidditch-related books they found in the library, and they treated these with particular caution as though fearing the academics would rub off on them and turn them turn into Hermiones, which was the last thing the world needed – more than one, barely bearable Hermione.

Draco contented himself in reading that diary-like book with the brown leather cover which was apparently a legacy from his father, as well as, it was revealed later when they entered the master bedroom to call it a night, a thick brown tome which rested on the bedside drawer and the subject of which Draco was distinctly reluctant to discuss.

Although the two people who once slept in this room were deceased, particularly the male person, Harry couldn't help but feel intimidated, still; the room was mercilessly simple, with spartan silver finishes and minimum expletives. A massive antique escritoire stood adjacent to a huge dark-wood armoire facing the king-sized, pale-gold-quilted bed whose enormity seemed strangely uninviting and baleful rather than the contrary.

So with his hackles oddly half-raised, Harry proceeded into the room, bearing half a mind to walk straight out. He leaned his bulging rucksack against the bedside drawer, at which point, seeing this, Draco called tiredly from the other side of the large room, "Take your stuff out and pack, will you, please?"

Harry did as he was told, but only as much as it pacified Draco, who in the meantime changed into his black silk pyjamas. Minutes later, Harry was changing into his own admittedly less tasteful sleepwear.

"We have seriously got to get you some decent nightwear," remarked Draco, with his arms crossed, giving an appalled once-over at Harry as he lay there under the covers, tinkering with his wand. "Those slipshod woven pieces of fabric just won't do."

"At Winox Lane too, I presume?" said Harry, taking sudden and rather feeble and defensive pride in dressing himself.

"You stole the words right out of my mouth!" whispered Draco, with a bright smile.

"When are we going there?"

"Don't know... We'll have to see. I daresay that calendar's got some pretty important dates we'd like to keep track of."

Harry didn't speak, prominently thinking of the twelfth of October, and perhaps knowing this, Draco went quiet.

Harry buttoned up his Snitch nightshirt and slipped into the covers – a distinctly awkward thing to do as Draco watched him, but then Draco mercifully dispensed with his attention on him by slipping his wand under his pillow and that contraption which resembled a cross between a pocket watch, a very small radio, and a compass into the drawer. While he did this, Harry took this opportunity to quickly unclasp the silver watch on his hand and place it on the top of his own bedside drawer.

"What is that thing?" then asked Harry, looking at the object through Draco's solid drawer with a mixture of irritation and nostalgia as he lay next to Draco in the covers, which, he noted, felt refreshingly cool on his skin, which strangely added to that baleful and dispassionate feel of the room.

"That? It's a Chassio – got it for my sixth birthday, amongst other things."

"Yeah, calling it an alarm would have been too ordinary for Malfoys, I would have thought."

"And you're quite right, but no, it's not just an alarm, for your information."

Harry stared at him, waiting for Draco to elaborate, which he didn't, whereupon Harry pretended he didn't care, but wishing to oblige the silent expectation of courteous curiosity, he asked, "And what else does it do?"

"All in due course, Harry, all in due course."

Harry sincerely regretted trying to be anything positive towards Draco, courteously curious included.

Today hadn't been a particularly active day, yet Harry almost at once drifted off to dreamland as soon as his head hit his pillow.

"One hell of a day, it was today, wasn't it?" asked Harry sleepily, staring at Draco, who also had his head on his pillow, looking back at him.

He barely heard Draco's reply as he wonderfully floated away from the cold room with a whiff of faint, sweet vanilla essence, and the last thing he felt was Draco's soft fingers on his face.

**Author's note:**

1. _The Famous Tragedy of the Queen of Cornwall at Tintagel in Lyonnesse: A New Version of an Old Story Arranged as a Play for Mummers, in One Act, Requiring No Theatre or Scenery _is in fact a real book written by a Muggle named Thomas Hardy in 1923.

2. The first set of lyrics is of the song _Stronger_, by Mary J. Blige from the album _Stronger with each Tear_.

3. The second set of lyrics is of the song _Heartless_, by Kanye West from the album _Heartbreak_.


	2. Adverse Attachments

**Chapter 2**

**Adverse**** Attachments**

_The wind whipped the __tears out his eyes._

_Countless limbs flailed blurredly as they ran on either of his sides._

_The houses streaked into a single blur of brown, and the stars streamed into a single streak of silver._

_And even as he ran away from it, not facing it, it still hung humungous over his shoulder, __an unavoidable sight, bright and beautiful – the full moon._

_And it brought its creatures with it._

_A growl here._

_A snarl there._

_A snatch of fur._

_And a glint of teeth._

_And a snap of a twig._

"_Harry..."_

"_Co..."_

"Nah!"

Harry jumped a foot high in the bed, his heart banging wildly against his chest, his Snitch pyjama shirt drenched on the back and front.

The bed jiggled with his awakening start, upsetting Draco, who consequently started moving around and who had been nicely tucked into him, comfortably spooned.

Harry looked down at the sleeping face drifting upon a mane of wild, silver-blond hair. His eyes then slowly travelled down from there to the pale neck, to the black silk shirt, and down to the bony hips, where they were connected and whereupon Harry sprung away from Draco as though he had received an electrical shock. And as he lay there, recoiled from Draco, his nightmare terrors slinking away into the obscurest recesses of his mind, Harry looked at Draco again from top to down, wondering what had caused him to react like this, yet an answer, though a very vague answer, swam up in his mind at once...

"It's time to wake up, my dragon. It's time to wake up, my dragon. It's time to wake up, my dragon. It's time to wake up, my dragon."

It was the muffled sound of a beautiful female voice which Harry knew was that of Draco's mother coming from an instrument called a Chassio lying in a drawer on Draco's side of the bed. And at this, Draco started to rouse, moving his arms and legs around and scrunching his face while Harry stared down at him.

Harry reached over him, opened the drawer, and took out the Chassio, which was now beeping obscenely loudly.

Draco moved about some more and squirmed under him, gradually awakening at an indecent time of 06:30 in the morning when their most pressing calling was – perhaps to Ron – breakfast at nine o'clock, for they didn't have to go to school any longer since dropping out, hence he thought it was...

"Bloody ridiculous," hissed Harry madly, as he dropped back onto the bed and stared at the complicated contraption which hadn't the courtesy to have one big button to press to silence it. Harry shook it, somehow hoping this would do it, or do it in.

Draco stretched below him, his limbs bowing off the bed, cracking, and almost elongating. He then smiled up at Harry, who continued fumbling with the Chassio busily, prodding it here and there and shaking it furthermore while he wore a cute frown, clearly determined to shut the thing up.

Defeated and frustrated, Harry stopped in his attempts and merely stared quiescently at the instrument in his hand while it beeped forevermore.

The face of the Chassio had three rings: the middle ring had four points denoted like a compass, with four cardinal points of N, S, E, and W for west; the inner ring, strangely, had thirteen hands, one of which was red and protruded out of the ring and into the outer compass-like one, pointing at north-west, which Harry, though he had no idea of where they were, found wrong for some reason; and the third outer ring had a red triangular pointer on its rim and was calibrated with lines of increasing thickness, and the thickest of them was at the top of the ring and on top of which were carved the letters, 'UTWN'.

Breaking his concentration from this irksome contraption for a bit, Harry's eyes darted below to Draco's half-opened grey ones looking up at him before noticing his dreamy smile; Harry pinkened and quickly looked back to the Chassio, shaking it afresh, but his blush deepened to a violent red when he felt Draco's hand on his thigh.

"Why the blazes do you keep this on even though we don't have to wake up so bloody early anymore?" asked Harry, in a voice of exaggerated frustration.

"Punctuality is a powerful virtue, Harry," slurred Draco hoarsely.

Harry tried to ignore the way these words sounded as he yawned and rubbed his eyes, Lucius flashing past in his mind.

"But we don't have to be punctual for anything anymore."

Draco squinted up at him for a while and then took the Chassio from his hands, pressed one button on the side twice, and the beeping mercifully stopped, whereupon Harry sighed in relief and took in the welcomed silence.

With the Chassio perched soundlessly on his chest, Draco yawned, exposing his mouth to Harry. Draco stretched again, and as his arms extended upwards, he took Harry gently by his face, looking up at him with eyes brimming with somnolent tears.

Harry, who knew that this was some ritual Draco went through when preparing to wake up properly, left him to it, leaving the misty grey eyes to wander across his face and the fingers to brush and explore his wild black hair. Then Draco seemed to come into himself: he let his arms drop lifelessly to the bed and he looked away from Harry, bringing his legs up.

"Sleep well?" asked Harry.

Harry noticed that Draco was just about to nod, but then Draco held his head still, his eyes now seeming guarded.

"It's okay to sleep well, you know," said Harry, assuring Draco. He knew he hadn't.

Draco looked back at him and away again.

"I don't suppose it's the Chassio that woke you up."

"No," replied Harry, before he lowered himself back onto the bed, strangely making sure to keep a fair distance between his groin and Draco's silk-clad bottom.

Draco sighed deeply and turned around to face him. His hand came up and started brushing his hair.

They looked into each other's eyes.

"What are we going to do today?" asked Harry.

Draco shrugged cluelessly.

"We're probably the only ones wide awake now," remarked Harry.

Draco smiled.

Harry sighed smilingly, unable to help himself.

As Draco's fingers drifted from his hair to his face, Harry distinctly and vaguely recalled feeling such a sensation in his sleep, perhaps. He leant his face into Draco's pale hands, wishing for them to make it tingle wonderfully some more. He puckered his lips and felt Draco's palm on them, soft and thin. Draco shimmed closer to him, and Harry couldn't help but slink his arm over Draco's torso, holding him close. Draco slid his face against Harry's, sneaked it into his neck and gave it faint, ghostly half kisses which made Harry's skin simmer and his legs to flail restlessly. Draco's hands slid lower, down his sides, over his ribs, towards his back, and past his rubber waist into his Snitch underwear. Harry felt Draco's hands on his arse, rubbing it softly upward and downwards, completely ignoring the raging erection in the front.

Just before he felt the lips touch his, Harry opened his eyes to meet half-opened, steaming grey eyes.

As smoothly as a snake, Draco twisted and was soon on top of Harry, who was now on his back.

Feeling Draco's thighs on his own, Harry sighed breathlessly around Draco's tongue in his mouth as Draco kissed him deeply and as he rubbed against him. Draco's hands explored Harry's body, and then they took Harry's wrists and directed them behind him, and when Harry's hand came into contact with Draco's bums, they twitched and pulled off, and the moment shattered away.

Draco pulled back, white-blond hair rumpled, and asked, "What's the matter?"

Harry shook his head wordlessly and kept his eyes shut as he breathlessly made to sit up, at which point Draco lifted himself from him and sat on top of his lap with his arms loosely crossed.

Under Draco's warm weight and his befuddled gaze, Harry squirmed uncomfortably, his legs kicking about restlessly, his eyes not knowing where to hide.

"What's wrong?" asked Draco again, frowning down at him.

"It's nothing, really," replied Harry, as he moved such that he indicated to Draco that we wished to get off the bed.

Still with that befuddled gaze, and now crossed arms, and his head tilted slightly to one side, Draco lifted his leg and climbed off Harry, at whom he remained staring while he stood up and fiddled about on himself and the top of his drawer.

Harry took the silver watch off the top of the drawer, turned towards Draco, and started putting it with apologetic enthusiasm.

"Would you like to go around the villa? Mother used to do it with me always in the morning. Bored me to death, to be honest."

Harry nodded, looking at Draco in the eyes. He was somewhat confused with himself, and he felt he owed Draco an apology for acting the way he did, thus his contrite agreement to tour the villa and wearing the gifted silver watch in front of Draco's eyes, which eyed him steadily before he slid off the bed, stood up, took his arm, and directed him towards a door on Draco's side of the bed.

They entered what was clearly a bathroom but that which Harry, due to his unenhanced and thus poor vision, couldn't see properly, and it was plain that it too would have been a wonderful sight to behold. What was perceptible to him, though, was that he was glared at by the supreme whiteness of the room such that it almost hurt his eyes at first, but it became better as he grew used to the room while Draco led him further inwards before he heard a shower curtain being pulled to one side.

Then Harry saw Draco beginning to undress himself, so he did likewise, and seconds later they were standing in the shower stall naked together with hot water pouring down on them. Harry spotted a long line of bottles on one side from which Draco took one, opened the lid, shook it, there was a squelching noise, Draco replaced the bottle on the wall, and reached into Harry's hair and started lathering it with, evidently, the shampoo.

"Do mine," commanded Draco quietly.

Harry licked his lips as he reached for the bottle that Draco had used, opened it, shook it, and squeezed out a purple gel, which, after putting the bottle back, he rubbed in his hand and started massaging laboriously into Draco's longer hair while they both felt the tip of each other's penises intermittently poking their abdomens, something which seemed to heighten the experience and put a bigger smile on Harry's faces, knowing that Draco was attracted to him as equally as he was to him, as the physical evidence suggested. It was very nice to know this.

Soon enough, they were smooching more than they were washing.

After what felt like an eon later, they managed to dry and clothe themselves before Draco led them to the door of the master bedroom.

As soon as he opened it, Harry caught a powerful but pleasant whiff of vanilla essence, and his curiosity became stoked again, but he found a reluctance to inquire about it, as he remembered in what mood it put Draco when a question about it had been raised subsequently by all three Ron, Seamus, and Hermione, and he didn't want to upset Draco as well after behaving the way he had in the bedroom and so early in the morning.

Although it had been an uncomfortably humid night after the coolness of the bed sheets wore off as naturally as they do, when they stepped outside a few minutes later, Harry was surprised to find the sky slightly overcast. Hand in hand with Draco, they set off towards the cliff face where the jaegers would be flapping about and taking off.

Reaching a fair distance from the cliff after ambling through the vineyard, they stopped and stared at the gloomy horizon, the air refreshingly cool on their skins. Subsequently, they went around the villa and were greeted by more green vastness. Draco was taking regular peeks at Harry's attire, which dully comprised grey school trousers under a huge hand-me-down mustard shirt which nearly swallowed his meek form.

Draco didn't comment on it.

"You wouldn't want to see my secret place, would you?" asked Draco, as they turned towards the back of the villa, where the garden sprawled gloriously.

Looking anywhere but there, Harry paused but then shook his head. "Not now, anyway," he said, as he gave Draco a half-smirk, half-smile.

Draco smiled.

"You seem to have enjoyed your childhood fully."

"Dare you say, Harry, dare you say. I hope Dobby didn't tell you too much about me."

"Well, I can't say he held back."

Draco stopped walking.

"But I didn't ask too many questions," said Harry quickly, trying to pacify Draco, who was simultaneously gaping and glaring at him demandingly.

"Depends on how many questions are 'too many'."

"What does it matter if I know some things about you?"

"Nothing," replied Draco airily after a while, before he began leading them towards the large mahogany door which he had opened yesterday to this garden.

The casual walk took a little over an hour, and when they entered the villa, at which point Harry's nose was again softly titillated by the sweet, soft smell of vanilla essence, they found nobody awake yet, but then, with a knowing look, Draco took off for the library and later called out that Hermione was in there.

"This is an obsession, Granger," Harry heard Draco comment, a comment which was immediately followed by a scream and then the furiously hissed words,

"You scared me to bits!"

Harry headed back to their bedroom and entered it, feeling its starkly cold air in contrast with the warm air of the rest of the villa, softened by the vanilla aroma. Harry headed to Draco's side of the bed, towards the top of his drawer, upon which rested his Chassio – of which the point of the third outer ring inched steadily towards the thickest line – a large brown tome, and a small, diary-like book to which Harry's hand subsequently extended.

With much trepidation, knowing that this was morally wrong, Harry sat down on the bed and opened the book, quite forgetting about the Chassio.

Harry held the book within an inch of his face to try to make out the black blurs. He noted that the entries in the book were all dated and captioned formally, but he was looking for a specific page, a page on which he had yesterday spied the words, '...I had never been prouder of you than I was on that night of 21st August.' The search took a little while, for the pages weren't numbered – not that we would be able to read them anyway – and all he had to go with were the emboldened dates, but finally he found the sentence on a page dated 27th September, but just before he attempted to read even the first word, there came a ear-piercing ringing noise; Harry's hand flew to his ears, dropping the diary, and his face screwed up.

The Chassio was ringing so loudly and so powerfully that it was quivering and suspended in mid-air.

Harry desperately grabbed it and shook it and pressed it, but to no avail; cursing his poor eyesight and why he hadn't looked where Draco had pressed it, Harry spun around in panic, staring at the door that would surely burst open at any moment. He looked down at the Chassio, noticing that the point of the third outer ring was on top of the thickest of the lines, right on top of the letters 'UTWN'. Harry flung the Chassio at the bed, but it rang and beeped all the more, and just when he was about to reach for it again, the door swept open slowly and gracefully to reveal a blank-looking Draco in its frame.

Mortified beyond belief, and with a shame almost as deep as he had never felt before, even when Draco commented on his virginal impotence, Harry feebly took the Chassio from the bed and banged it against his palm. He started doing this more vigorously when Draco neared him, but he stopped and looked up at Draco, who had his hand extended, his palm ready to receive his Chassio. Harry's cheeks burning red, he dumped it into the awaiting palm and stood there awkwardly while Draco peered down at it, pressed something on it, and silence returned once more and promptly started thickening.

"So that thing acts likes a Sneakoscope, sort of," observed Harry, in a voice of forced casualness.

"Something like that," replied Draco coolly.

"I'm sorry," said Harry rapidly, trying to speak over his enormous shame, trying to get the painful apology over with, but he was feeling so bad and so sorry that he could actually look Draco in the eye as he did so. "I'm sorry. I didn't—but—Sorry..."

"Mn—it's okay," said Draco emotionlessly. "Curious is human."

Harry looked at him, still hyperventilating slightly.

"But it's still rude to read other people's stuff."

"Yeah, I know that."

"So your vision's not as bad as I thought."

Harry flushed.

"I barely read anyth-"

"How about if I did it to you?"

Harry's head began to jerk to one side with an expression of befuddlement similar to that which Draco had worn earlier, and before he could even register the action, Draco was off and within seconds was rifling through Harry's bag.

For some few seconds, Harry didn't react to this, stunned, but then he came back into himself and yelled, "Oi!"

"You've no right to say, 'Oi!'"

"Draco...!" Harry said, as he climbed over the bed and made to spring upon him, but Draco was already done with his bag and had hauled out one of the things which meant much to Harry.

"What's this?" lilted Draco dangerously.

He should have known Draco would be spiteful. He should have known... especially in matters of emotion... Slytherins... Harry looked warily at the album clutched in Draco's pale hand.

"I wonder what's in here, hm?" said Draco, as he began to open the album.

"Draco, that's private," warned Harry feebly, but he didn't make to snatch the album from Draco, whom he thought had some right to explore it, because he had done so with his father's diary, both of which were articles of sentimentality for them.

Luckily, as soon as Draco flipped to a page and began focussing on some picture, there came another loud, ringing noise originating from the Chassio; this time Harry resisted putting his hand to his ears and took the Chassio off the bed and shook it again uselessly.

Draco snatched it from his hands and switched it off effortlessly.

"Didn't know it worked for anyone other than you."

"Well, now you know, don't you?" snapped Draco, and he flung Harry's photo album onto the bed and slung out of the room.

Feeling thick with guilt, Harry placed his family album on top of the drawer, glanced at Draco's diary, and went out of the room and into the sitting room, where he found Hermione dumping an armful of books onto the low table before she huffed.

"They haven't woken up yet?"

"It's only like eight o' clock," said Harry.

"Exactly!" exclaimed Hermione incredulously, as though she had made her point. Then her eyes darted from him to Draco, and Harry could plainly see she was thinking that the only reason he was awake was the very person she had just glanced at – Draco, otherwise, he would be snoring blissfully along with the other boys.

"I could have hurt myself, you know," Hermione told Draco. "Next time warn a person if you're about to shout at the top of your voice while she's floating in mid-air on something barely wider than herself!"

"Was that flattery on your own behalf?" asked Draco.

Hermione didn't respond to this, clearly thinking her silence a dignified one.

It grew boring for a while for Harry merely watching Hermione peruse the books she had collected from the library and Draco the brown one from the bedroom, so he thought he would join the party – he fetched and rather enjoyed the illustrations than the text in _Useless Magic: A Collection of the Most Marginal, Mundane Magic Imaginable_, which he had been given by Hermione for his birthday.

Minutes later, Dean and Seamus stumbled into the sitting room and yawned wildly in the door frame.

The three of them looked up at them but quickly returned to their books.

Seeing this, Dean and Seamus looked at each other, exchanged despairing expressions, and turned around before heading towards the showers, undoubtedly, and a few minutes later, joined them in their reading session, rifling through _Quidditch of the Connoisseur_ and then joining Harry in _Useless Magic_.

"This is nauseating," bleated Ron, as he entered the sitting room, the last to do so, yawning widely and stretching. "It's not a sight I recommend seeing first in the morning." And he yawned again, clad in his faded, threadbare, ankle-length pyjamas, at which Draco's nose crinkled, clearly disgusted. "We could be playing wizard chess, but no, only Hermione thought it was 'unimportant when you consider the bigger schemes of things'."

"I hope you don't disagree, Ron," sniffed Hermione, over the top of her book.

Ron mumbled something inarticulate at her before plunging into a couch, whereupon Draco's face turned into one of shock.

"Do have the courtesy to take a wash, Weasley!"

Lazily, Ron looked up at the clock hanging over the mantelpiece of a grand fireplace and yawned in Draco's face again, looking quite settled and quite unwilling to stand up and head for the showers.

Harry also glanced at the clock and saw that it was ten minutes to nine; he rather thought Ron had planned the time at which he would wake up so that his wait for breakfast would be at a minimum.

"So is that Tibby elf coming again?" asked Ron obtrusively.

Draco didn't answer, glaring at him.

"Ron, really," said Hermione, "it's for the health of your own teeth – go brush them, please. I wouldn't feel comfortable not telling you to do so when I'm a child of two dentists."

Ron grumbled another inarticulate something under his breath before trudging out of the room as though every step away from where his breakfast was due to appear caused him mortal pain.

After Tibby reappeared before them on time and indeed with breakfast trays floating in mid-air and they had ravished all the food, there came that bleak feeling of interminable boredom; Harry almost missed school.

"There's got to be something else we can do besides _reading_!" whined Ron, who looked affronted by them all, as they were all doing so quietly.

Harry partly agreed to Ron's words; there just had to be something better than this.

Thinking that Ron's tone of words would do anything but coerce a suggestion of a favourable activity out of Draco, Harry said quietly to him, "He's kinda right, Draco. Isn't there anything else we can do?"

Trying not to look affronted himself, and after his eyes darted to Ron, Draco said, with his chin slightly raised, "Just used to play with my broom and some games with Dobby – Hide 'n Seek, like I told you, play in my secret place, play with the animals. And there might be a few things I left behind here, like Gambole, Pimping Pirates, Snitch discs-"

"What's that?" asked Harry swiftly, as he, together with Dean, Seamus, and Ron, jumped to attention.

"Discs that have some famous and not-so-famous players and Quidditch teams and officials and interesting facts and stuff, but that's—I played that when I was young."

"How do you play it?" asked Seamus, nevertheless.

"Do you still have them?" asked Harry, looking at Draco with shining wonder. He remembered Seamus reading about them from _The Hogwarts Howler_ in the Shout Box section. (Seamus had taken over the reading from Hermione, who had been overwhelmed emotionally after they learned of Anonymous' plight and threatening to commit suicide).

Draco nodded. "I reckon they're somewhere here, yeah."

"Can I see them?" asked Harry, who made sure to be referring to himself exclusively, because he thought Draco was more willing to be agreeable towards him than perhaps someone else, such as Ron.

Draco seemed to hesitate for a moment, but after he caught Harry's openly curious and perhaps more endearing face, he stood up; Harry made to sit up, but Draco barred him with a look – something which put in Harry's mind the idea that he wasn't forgiven entirely for the stunt he had pulled minutes earlier – before he disappeared behind the door to return a few minutes later heaving something huge that resembled a wooden crate. Harry, Ron, Dean, and Seamus fell sprung out of the way for him and fell upon themselves to help Draco lower the crate onto the table, and judging by the many things in it, Harry became of the opinion Draco indeed had had a very colourful childhood.

In the play crate, they found, amongst other things, a toy broom Draco had told Harry about and with which Dobby used to fly him, several multicoloured Widzy Wands, which were training wands for small boys aged three to five years (this was embedded in a black ring around the wands), there was a purple and pink wizard chess set with comical magical characters including Merlin himself, a lot of small wooden shapes which may have been part of a jigsaw puzzle or the like, and some other interesting things.

Hermione was frowning at them over her book, as they all began whooping loudly and jumping and arguing good-naturedly over the Snitch discs.

"Can I keep this?" asked Seamus excitedly, holding up an emerald-green Snitch disc with a golden double 'K' on the back and front, and above the front ones was the name Kenmare Kestrels.

Draco shrugged quietly, but Harry could feel Draco was enjoying showing off his toys as much as they were enjoying discovering with them.

Ron suddenly gasped and held a hand to his chest in a rather girlish way, but Harry knew that such lapses of behaviour of Ron's usually marked very important Quidditch-related events, and evidently Ron had now stumbled upon something just as, if not more important. Daring not to breathe, seemingly, Ron lowered his hand into Draco's crate slowly and pulled out a bright orange Snitch disc which Harry then saw, as he had suspected with amusement, had black double 'C's on the back and front, and above the front pair was emblazoned the title Chudley Cannons. Closing his mouth, Ron looked down at Draco quietly and beseechingly, and after Draco put Ron in what Harry thought was inhumane suspension for a spell without reacting, he finally shrugged carelessly.

Ron looked as though he had received his birthday present early.

"Cool!" said Dean, slapping Ron on the back in congratulation, happy for him, but Ron still didn't appear to have regained himself.

Harry, choosing to be safe, contented himself by holding onto a silver-black Snitch disc of the Montrose Magpies, which he knew was the best Quidditch team ever, as per Ron's _Quidditch Through the Ages_.

The Snitch discs, which were about the size of Harry's palm, all had some information on them about the team: when it was founded, where it hails from, the latest captain's name, how many European Championships and World Cups it has won, what seemed to be performance ratings for the members of the team, and finally some interesting information about the team.

For Harry, his Montrose Magpies Snitch disc had the following:

Montrose Magpies

Founded: 1283

Base: Edinburgh

Captain: Hamlet McFarlan

European Championship: 2

World Cup: 74

Keeper: 7½

Chasers: 9

Beaters: 8

Seeker: 9¾

The Montrose Magpies are the most successful Quidditch team in Wizarding history.

When all of them had chosen at least four Snitch discs, and after Draco, who, after such flattery of interest in his childhood toys, was much less hostile towards them all, including Harry, explained the rules of this game simply called Snitch, they began to play. Dean won the most times, the least being Harry, despite wielding an arsenal which contained a Snitch disc of 'the most successful Quidditch team in Wizarding history'.

When Ron found himself losing time after time, blaming it on Draco, Seamus, and the other Snitch discs he had besides that of the Chudley Cannons, he resorted to suggesting a different game, which led them to digging deeper into Draco's play crate for more things.

When the clock struck midday, they decided to give the toys a break so to preserve their novelty; tomorrow was another day.

"Hermione, aren't you tired of reading?" whined Ron, frowning at Hermione as though he were getting tired himself by merely looking at her read.

There came a high sniff from behind the big book but no words followed.

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry. Then he stood up and stretched before casting a furtive eye at the clock.

"We're going to explore the garden," he announced in a voice uncannily like Hermione's.

Instantly, the book gave way to frizzy hair and a curious frown.

"You're going outside to the garden?"

"M-hm!" said Ron, still in that high, girlish voice.

Hermione for a moment seemed to be battling with herself before she finally spoke again.

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to take a break and get some fresh air."

Ron snorted loudly, breaking the act. "You think," he said, as Hermione came to her feet and placed her book on her seat. "You aren't coming with, Harr—Ow!"

"No, been outside already, thanks," said Harry, over Ron's mewls of pain after Hermione had shoved her elbow into his side.

"Bloody woman, that hurt, if you didn't know!"

"I know it did," said Hermione, tilting her chin upwards and marching proudly out of the sitting room.

"Might as well," said Dean awkwardly, jerking backwards and forwards uncertainly as he made to stand up with Seamus.

"Go on," said Harry encouragingly, doing his best not to look hurt, and at his words, Dean and Seamus strode forward with new confidence and left.

Harry continued to explore Draco's crate.

"What are you thinking?" asked Draco, out of the blue.

"Nothing," said Harry at once, as he shrugged his shoulders and pushed aside several items until he fortuitously stumbled across a piece of very refined and hence very smooth parchment which he carefully lifted out from the crate and examined closely to his face to compensate for his poorer vision. However, before his eyes could even focus on what looked like a hand-drawn picture, the parchment was ripped from his hands; he looked up to see Draco studying the parchment in a defensive posture.

"What is it?" he asked.

Draco shook his head quietly. Harry couldn't discern any emotion from his blurry face.

"What are you thinking?"

Draco looked up at him from the parchment. He might have smiled, but Harry would never know, for Draco then folded the parchment carefully and held onto it.

"What else is in there?" asked Draco, as he actively began digging in the crate, which encouraged Harry to join him.

While the rest were out of the house, Draco took the opportunity to show Harry his more private things from an ancient-looking trunk in bedroom which he used to sleep in, which was now occupied by Dean and Seamus.

When they returned to the sitting room, as Harry lowered himself back onto the floor, he caught sight of the brown book Draco had been reading, and though he was beginning to burn with curiosity again, he didn't want to disrespect Draco's privacy again and read it, so he kept to himself.

Draco sighed. "So, what do you want to do, hm? We're all alone," said Draco, wriggling his eyebrow suggestively.

Harry smirked calmly and almost pulled it off for a moment there. "Do control yourself, Draco."

"What did I do?" asked Draco indignantly, as though Harry had accused him of outright harassment.

"It's more what you said," replied Harry pompously, trying and failing to put on an appearance of superiority.

Plainly trying not to look let down, Draco said, "Then would you perhaps, sir, like to read, er... the _Howler_... again?"

"Sure, why not," said Harry, dropping the act. "I'm in desperate need of a laugh. Let's see how Flitwick's doing."

Draco giggled and put the tabloid on top of the table, onto which he and Harry folded their arms, looking down at the paper.

Draco, in that airy, thin, beautiful tenor of his, started reading _The Hogwarts Howler_:

* * *

_The Hogwarts Howler_, page 6

**FISHY FLITWICK**

What You Don't Know about Your Charming Charms Teacher

Story by Padma Patil, Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown. Pictures by Colin Creevey.

_When I first heard of this from my twin sister Padma__ about two weeks ago, I like totally didn't believe it! I nearly slapped her senseless for that accusation. Our very own adorable Flitwick? Buggering a kitchen-elf, the operative words being 'buggering' and 'kitchen-elf'? Or does that squeaky clean reputation really got some skeletons in its Cabinet after all? Lavender and I went to investigate._

_Before approaching Flitwick, we set off for the kitchens, but there was a problem instantly – we didn't know how to get there. We came up with a plan. If Flitwick could figure out a way to get there, surely we could as well, unless access is limited strictly to all persons under two feet._

_After spinning __Flitwick a sad and compelling tale about me and Padma needing to give food to a poor kid and his homeless family in our home town, Flitwick's resistance finally snapped, and he told us how to even spot the door. He made us swear he wouldn't tell anybody else. Imagine what would happen if we did!_

_So off we were__. We did exactly what Flitwick told us (let's just say it involves a giggling pear), and entered through a big, creaky door._

_It took us some time to search out a kitchen-elf that could look anything close to what we thought was Flitwick's taste (um, we'd like to clarify this was pure guesswork – we don't – or at least I don't – know anything of Flitwick's taste!). There was one timid kitchen-elf who kept to herself and who the other kitchen-elves looked to be angry with. We approached her but soon found out that she wasn't the one, so we asked Winky to direct to the right elf, which she did. _

_After learning__ this new kitchen-elf's name, Kiwi, we interrogated her heavily but kindly until she couldn't resist human orders anymore and threw herself onto the floor as she cried out her confessions of the deep but brief passion that characterized (I think my stomach's turning) her and Professor Flitwick's love life but which now was sadly over! When Lavender asked Kiwi how the sex had been, she passed out or might have been swooning and then hit herself unconscious on the floor, we couldn't tell through all the snot and tears; she was a mess, to tell you the truth, and Colin's camera flashes didn't make it any better (_see inset_ – _**Bawling Baller**. Kiwi the Hogwarts kitchen-elf dissolving after confessing her inflamed love life with Prof. Flitwick_)._

_But just look at what we had found out! Professor F. Flitwick has indeed been having a steamy affair with one of the Hogwarts kitchen-elves!_

_When confronted with these findings, Professor Flitwick__ fired a spell at Colin's flashing camera and nearly blew it to bits, and as he ran for cover he had the following to say:_

"_Nonsense!" squealed an agitated F__litwick. "Bilge, I tell you!"_

(see inset – **Fleeing Flitwick**. Prof. Flitwick proves himself indeed flitting and wicked!)

_As we ran after him__ (okay walked after him – he's not that fast, considering), so dedicated to bringing you _The Hogwarts Howler_ with top quality (I hate running or walking equally, by the way) Lavender informed Flitwick that Kiwi had mentioned his name and had confirmed their then relationship, and everybody knows elves can't lie to us. So recognizing defeat, Flitwick's shoulders sagged, he started slowing down, and he seemed to grow shorter than what he usually is. After a rather admirable spell of persuasion from Lavender that I would be proud to learn the skills of, Flitwick became more agreeable._

"_Well," said Flitwick with a shy, squeakish giggle, "it's confessable she's got a way with her fingers, she does!"..._

"Ah, Draco! Argh!" said Harry in protest, throwing his head back in horror.

Draco forced himself to read on.

_..."__Never met anyone quite like her! Even the smartest magical philosophers won't be able to figure out her magic, I tell you! She works it better than a master!"_

"Stop! Please! No more!" protested Harry, having reached the end of his tether for this one.

Draco was laughing so hard at the article and at Harry that he couldn't continue reading it, and at that moment, Hermione, Ron, Dean, and Seamus burst into the house in a cacophony of excited mutters.

"Bit greyish outside," remarked Hermione, as she entered into the room with the others, but then she stopped dead in her tracks, looking at her dirty hands, before she said, "We have to wash our hands, guys."

"What have you been doing with them?" asked Harry.

"Letting those phiggles lick us, amongst other things!" answered Hermione in pleasure, but then she whirled around and put her hands on her hips – thereby soiling them – before going past the threshold, her pleasure now quite absent. "You could've warned us there were some dangerous plants and animals out there, you know."

"Must have slipped my mind," said Draco dismissively.

Hermione huffed and then turned around, walking out muttering angrily, "How could we have known a lump of wood would suddenly attack us...?"

Harry and Draco laughed.

A few minutes later, they all returned with clean hands.

Ron settled himself right in the middle seat of the three-seater settee, looking assured and unmovable as he stared at the clock above the mantle, and when the hand struck one o' clock exactly, his eyes flew to Draco and fixed on him demandingly, whereupon Draco, perhaps sensing his stare, and with his hand casually under his chin, automatically drawled, "Tibby."

_POP!_

"If you would get us some lunch, please."

"At once, Master Draco!"

"Can your vocabulary go anywhere beyond, 'At once, Master Draco!'?" harrumphed Seamus to Dean.

Tibby didn't blush. She merely paid Seamus a swift stare.

"At once, Master Draco!" she hollered, in a ringing and perhaps slightly louder voice or it might have been Harry's imagination.

Tibby disappeared and returned a few minutes later with six trays full of food, and they tucked in, allowing silence to rein the sitting room momentarily save for the munching, clinking of cutlery, and the vociferous slurps which mainly came from Ron and which apparently Draco refused to dignify, for he merely glared intermittently at him but never spoke on it.

When they generally finished eating, Draco said again, "Tibby."

_POP!_

"At once, Master Draco!" said Seamus in a high, fluttery lilt over the exact words of Tibby's, who, however, didn't appear insulted and who cleaned up with her usual snapping of her fingers, which made Harry grin, thinking back to Flitwick.

Dean looked irritated for some reason.

"Thank you," said Draco.

But Tibby didn't disappear instantly. Instead, her big, gleaming eyes, which seemed to reflect the whole galaxy, darted to Seamus for a moment before fixing at a point just below Draco's eyes, just as Draco's eyes used to do with Lucius, indirectly looking at him.

"You may vanish," said Draco, even waving his hand dismissively this time, perhaps thinking Tibby had grown dimmer within the minutes they had been lunching.

Tibby's left knee started trembling.

"M-master Draco," she began tremulously, as though she were just about to confess a grave mishap of her doing. "Tibby is obliged to tell Master Draco that the Spouse-Sparing Spell has broken after three days, sir: the letters and the key have arrived, sir. Tibby is keeping the letters and the key safe for Master Draco until he may finally return to his true home, sir."

Draco's face seemed arrested; in fact, his whole body seemed unable to move.

Nothing happened in that sitting room for a full ten seconds other than Draco staring back inanimately at Tibby the house-elf.

"Thank you," then said Draco, his face still seemingly cast in ice – pale and unmoving.

"It was Tibby's pleasure, sir." And after her eyes darted to Seamus again she vanished as had been requested with a loud _POP!_

"Spouse-Sparing Spell...?" said Dean, wearing a confused expression.

Harry remembered Draco mentioning this particular spell just before his parents were murdered.

"There are certain formalities which must take place and which I have to attend to," stated Draco quietly, at the air in front of him, as it seemed he was addressing anything but the persons in the same room. "At home, like she said."

"Malfoy Manor?" said Harry, who wouldn't be surprised if Draco didn't answer him.

"Quite."

"You're going to the manor?" asked Seamus.

"It would seem I have to," replied Draco, without looking at him.

Seamus looked around them all before turning back to Draco. "When?"

Draco turned to him. "That is no concern of yours, Finnigan."

Seamus put his arms up in the air in a conceding manner.

"Well, that's that," said Draco a little hollowly, before he started looking around and holding stuff, trying to appear to be carrying on but looking quite out of touch. Normality returned somewhat thereafter to the room.

"I think I got the gist of that book," said Hermione, referring to the book she had been reading before heading outside with the boys. "What's this one abou-?"

"That is off limit, Granger!" growled Draco testily, as he sprung so fast he momentarily became a blur to swipe the brown book which he had been reading out of Hermione's reach.

"Fine then," sniffed Hermione, after a moment of battling not to look insulted, and then she whirled around and floated out of the room, doubtlessly headed to the library for find more books to read.

In a daring whim of spontaneity, and finally giving himself over to his burning curiosity, Harry swiftly plucked the thick tome from Draco's hands and jumped off the couch, heading to a more open area, lest Draco get out of control.

"Potter!" hissed Draco lividly, his eyes torn between glaring ferociously at him and staring at him in utter astonishment that he dared do what he had just done.

"What's this bloody book you've been reading this whole time? What's... ne—cro—isam?"

Right after these words there was the sound of squeaking shoes outside the room; Hermione sounded to have squeaked to a halt dead in her tracks.

Draco's eyes were wide, and he had that stunned glare again.

Less than a second later, waving frizzy hair came into view, to be followed by a face wearing a cautious frown.

"Come again?" asked Hermione quietly, from the frame of the doorway.

Harry turned from Draco to Hermione. Then he squinted hard at the book in his arm.

"What is ne-?" But before he could ask, the book was ripped violently from his hands.

Draco was actually shaking with rage, his face seemingly paler and frosty, almost like his father...

Ron's, Dean's, and Seamus' heads collectively swivelled from Harry to Draco as though watching a tennis match.

Hermione stood there quietly and motionlessly in the doorway for some several moments, her mouth hanging slightly open.

"It's nothing. I was reading this for leisure. How dare you take this book from my hands!" And Draco stomped off out of the room in a whirling of hair and emerald-green robes.

Harry saw Draco off before his eyes met Hermione's.

"What the bloody Maccie was that?" breathed Seamus, looking between Harry and Hermione, who hadn't stopped looking at each other.

"All that over a book?" said Dean, looking around in Draco's wake.

"Told you books weren't always good for you," remarked Ron, in a tone of high wisdom. "Proved my point, that little mad session did, but then again Malfoy wasn't always right in the head, was he?"

"So what is it?" Harry asked Hermione, staring at her.

Hermione's mouth worked several times before any sound followed through.

"I—I—I'm not sure – you didn't finish what you were going to say, but I think—I may have... may have read it in passing somewhere when I was researching in the restricted section in Hogwarts for those Horcruxes and stuff. I can't be sure, but... You need to get that book from him, even just for a little while. It can't be anything good. Narcotic what...? Necrisam...?" She frowned questioningly at Harry, who was none the wiser, as she paced, hopped around, and slapped her fingers together at the door, clearly trying to remember what the word meant, if she knew what it was.

"You found that word in the same book you found Horcruxes in?" asked Ron. "Well, that bloody solves it, doesn't it? It's definitely shifty stuff, then, but of course who are we talki-?"

"Remember I didn't find anything on Horcruxes, Ron," said Hermione in frustration, her pacing speeding up. "But I could have sworn I saw that word... Necrotic, necrisam, necroticism..."

"Sounds like exorcism to me," remarked Seamus quietly. "Both have something to do with evil."

Harry's mind was working rapidly now. It had to be a big deal if Hermione had reacted the way she had, not to mention that Draco had been mysteriously secretive about the book in question since, and Seamus also raised a valid point. He simply needed to get the book away from Draco for a while and check out the chapter he had been reading, and he needed to do that before it got anywhere near Draco's Chassio, which had a penchant for affecting him negatively in more ways than one.

"But I can't disagree with Ron or Seamus there..." Hermione said, as she glared mildly down at them. "...it's definitely not anything good. It has to be Dark magic. My goodness, right in front of our noses... And he just sits there as if nothing's at fault-"

"But we don't know for sure if it's really Dark," said Harry, who was taking these new doubts on Draco's integrity personally.

"Until we—until _you_ can get that book for us so we can see for sure," said Hermione quietly, still pacing.

"Makes no difference-" began Ron, but with one look from Hermione, he prudently left his views on the matter silent.

For the rest of the day, this issue bugged and grew on Harry's mind. He couldn't shake it, and it gave him a bad, ugly feeling inside, even as they enjoyed Snitch again, laughed over more stories from _The Hogwarts Howler_, and explored more of Harry's _Useless Magic _book. Seamus, who shouldered the duty of reading for them, and apart from miraculously finding the Read-Me-Aloud Charm for Harry, had a talent for discovering weird and wonderful bits of magic in the nooks and crannies of the book, something which Harry couldn't even dream of approaching, despite being the owner of the book. In stark contrast to the spells which Harry had been searching to deprive Seamus of his humour, Seamus found ones which could double and do even more for that of one's, and there were even some spells which could make someone just roll on the floor at every single trivial thing they came across; needless to say it turned into a pretty ridiculous afternoon after that.

A very brief drizzle made a feeble appearance before the air grew clear, but the clouds remained grey and foreboding, and they were growing darker by the hour such that Harry could barely savour the sunset over the horizon through a window out of the sitting room.

At precisely seven o' clock, Tibby, this time without prompt from Draco, who had retreated into the master bedroom, returned to serve them dinner, which again they didn't eat in the dining room but enjoyed immensely, nevertheless.

It then sudden occurred to Harry when he was yawning immediately after finishing his meal, full in the stomach and tired, for he had been up since half six today, that he had yet to figure out a way to try to slip the brown book from under Draco's nose.

And at the very centre of the challenge was the Chassio. If he could just deal with it, then the rest would surely follow.

Just how _could_ he deal with the Chassio?

Put it somewhere else, away from the book?

But Harry didn't know its range, so he couldn't risk it, and besides, Draco would probably find out very quickly if it was missing.

Smother the Chassio so that it didn't ring, or at least as loudly as it usually did?

_A Silencing Charm__, of course! Yes!_

Glowing with inspiration from this answer in his head, Harry sprung from the couch and headed to the master bedroom, feeling his wand through his shirt, strapped to his torso by his waistband.

But this glowing feeling of triumph fizzled out before he even made it halfway to the bedroom.

How was he going to cast a Silencing Charm on the Chassio if Draco was in plain sight? He needed to get him away... or wait for him to use the bathroom. Yes, he would do it when Draco brushed his teeth and prepared to tuck it in for the day.

More confident, Harry strode further ahead, turned the knob, and entered the master bedroom.

He just about caught the hem of an emerald-green robe before it disappeared behind the closing door of the bathroom – Draco had just entered the bathroom, and on top of the drawer lay that huge brown tome he was looking for, and on top of the bed that brown-leather diary of his father's.

Incredulous of his luck, Harry stood frozen there for several seconds, overcome by surprise; Lady Luck seldom flattered him, but Harry knew he was wasting time, yet he didn't know much time he actually had, how much time Draco would spend in the bathroom.

Humouring that burning curiosity and recklessness again, Harry threw caution to the wind and swiftly tip-toed towards—"_Silencio_," whispered Harry to his feet to quieten them, and then, pushing to the back of his mind the bad memories coming from this particular spell, he continued towards the book.

He reached the bedside drawer. He made very sure to direct his hand convincingly towards the handle of the drawer rather than the book itself, but when he opened the drawer and found the Chassio, the pointer of the third outer ring was already and impassively a good way towards the thickest line.

Harry brought up his wand and pointed it at the Chassio before he whispered again, "_Silencio._"

There, the spell was cast.

But he stood there, as uncertain as though he hadn't cast in the first place.

The only way he would find out it had worked was if he actually took the book and the Chassio activated, and it might be too late then if it did. He simply couldn't take that risk; Harry swore at himself under his breath.

He stood there, clueless, not daring to touch the book – the pointer was almost at 'UTWN'.

Harry swore at himself again.

He simply couldn't risk it. It had been a moot idea to start off with.

Harry straightened up and stared at the Chassio afresh, wonderingly.

How could he make perfectly sure it would not ring? How could he deceive this instrument?

The Chassio worked on a person's untrustworthiness, as he picked up from the 'UTWN' acronym. It worked on bad intentions, so how could he tinker with that...?

He needed to approach the book with a different set of intentions... or more practically, with his own, just disguised as something else...

_Disguise m__y intentions..._

The simple answer hit Harry so hard that he slapped himself violently against the head and actually stumbled backwards. _Of course! I should have bloody thought of it long before now!_

Cursing at himself afresh, Harry stomped soundlessly out of the room and went to find Hermione, whom he nearly passed heading to the library. Strangely, he caught her raging war on the knob of the door with the two silver diagonal lines.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" he asked, as he went over to her. He indeed did sense that the soft, sweet aroma of vanilla grew stronger as he approached the door, exactly what Hermione had said.

"Just trying to open this damn door. I swear all those spells we learnt at school are bloody useless in this place; nothing works at all, not even my most advanced, complex unlocking charm I know, can you believe that?"

"Shockingly unbelievable," said Harry. "So, Hermione, where's that blue book you had yesterday?"

"I don't know; I go through too many books to keep track of them, Harry. Why?"

Harry could barely hear her through the banging noises as she fought with the door knob.

"ʼCause I really need it. I need to _disguise my true intentions_ so I can steal the book. Catch my drift?"

Hermione stopped twisting and pulling the knob and glared at the door before turning to Harry.

"Why do you need to disguise your true intentions?"

"Because Draco's got this Chassio thing – sort of works like a Sneakoscope. Long story."

"Oh yes, it must have been that ringing noise we—well, _I_ heard anyway, and it woke me up rather rudely."

"Well, I'm sorry about that, but can't you remember where you put it? What shelf?"

"Draco was using it, isn't it? It was on the table when we arrived. I reckon it's somewhere in that room. But, Harry, be careful; I think some of the magic in there is Dark; a person simply can't just conceal his magical signature, even if they had an asterisk to it."

And with this, Hermione brought her foot up to the door and returned to pulling and twisting on the doorknob with new vigour, having dismissed Harry, only for Harry to hear her growl a few feet down the hall later, "Oh! Stupid door!"

"Can't be so stupid if it survived your most advanced, complex unlocking charms," muttered Harry to himself, and he took off for the sitting room, in which he arrived seconds later and indeed found a small but thick blue-cover book under one of the couches. He straightened up and plunked on the couch, opening the book.

"How to... how to... jackpot."

His eyes flew down the contents page and then gloriously spotted the exact words Hermione had spoken yesterday. He flipped to page three hundred and seventeen, activated the Read-Me-Aloud Charm, and listened to the top of the page:

**Chapter 17**

**Devices of Deception**

_Desire to do thy deeds in the deadest of the dark?_

_Conspire, do you, or aren't more than just your bark?_

_If not, read on, may you, you may learn your mode of art._

_If you aren't, close 'tis tome, will you, you're only just a fart! _

_Do you dare at this moment to duck and dive undercover?_

_Yet still find yourself more fortunate than the clover?_

_If you do then delve into the fickle world of deception, you spineless scurvy!_

_And spiral into the teetering underworld of tipsy-turvy!_

_Bask in duplicity!_

_Not in mere complicity!_

_Slide and slither, do the damned evil!_

_Secretly and stealthily, be the damning devil!_

Weirdly amused by what he had just heard, Harry shook his head vaguely and listened the section on How to Disguise Your True Intentions and dispiritingly found that it was more complicated than simply waving his wand at himself and speaking the incantation. There were seven steps to follow – the process was classified as a ritual – and the magic would only activate at 'deadnight', which Harry perceived to be midnight; he swore again.

He looked down at his silver watch given by Draco and pointed his wand at it, at which point a cool, clipped voice announced, "Twenty – zero – two."

20:02 – he had enough time.

He followed the directions precisely. Luckily the spell didn't require any ingredients such as candles or potions or what have you not. Harry could agree with Hermione – this book seemed like an illegally simple backdoor to so many things one could do.

After casting the seventh final spell on his chest after six minutes from the last one, Harry closed the book and stashed it under the same couch he had found it. He then swept out of the room and trotted back to the master bedroom, entering it some seconds later to find Draco reclining on the king-size bed, reading Lucius' diary.

"Hi," said Harry.

"Nice stunt you pulled off there," said Draco in greeting, as he daintily flipped to the next page. "Enjoyed ganging up against me?"

"We weren't ganging up on-"

"Bollocks!" boomed Draco so suddenly Harry took half a step back. "I saw what you were doing! I can't believe you did that to me – YOU!"

"Well, you didn't do yourself any favours being all secretive with it, were y-?"

"It doesn't matter whether I wanted to share the book or not!" Draco shot at Harry. "I was reading it! It's mine! This is my house!"

Harry didn't know how to respond to this, but he felt a strong desire to challenge Draco in the thread he had just started and say, 'So do you want us to go?' but he thought it was imprudent; Draco was acting out furiously, and with full licence.

"What's the big deal about it?" he said alternatively. "We just wanted to know you were reading on. Necroticism or something."

Seemingly short for words, his cheeks blotched with an angry red flush, Draco glared hard at Harry as his chest rose and fell deeply, but there was something watchful about his glare as well. For several moments, as he watched Harry's face carefully, Draco struggled to pacify his heaving chest and to calm himself.

"So do you know what it is?" he snapped bitingly.

"No. What is it?"

"Never you mind." And with that, Draco returned to the brown diary.

Taking courage from the sedateness of these words, Harry approached the bed, took off the silver watch, and made to get into the covers, but after his eyes took in Draco reading the diary, he went out of the room and returned a few minutes later with _Useless Magic_, which, after settling into the bed and hearing Draco breathing stiltedly through his nostrils – evidently still seething, he listened to after activating a Silencing Charm and thereafter the Read-Me-Aloud Charm in the covers next to Draco, and as they read and listened, there was a slightly tense air between them, which may have heightened when Draco spoke up several perhaps calming minutes later.

"Is that the book Weasley had bragged about at the DA meeting?" asked Draco, in a way which suggested he felt he was entitled to disturb Harry and to do worse following their argument.

Harry didn't respond.

Draco prodded Harry a little too roughly, whereupon Harry promptly deactivated both Charms and looked questioningly at him.

"Is that the book Weasley had bragged about at the DA meeting?"

"Er, yeah."

"_Useless Magic_?"

"Yup. The one you were rolling on the floor about after Ron told you about it."

Some few seconds passed wordlessly before Draco spoke up again. "So what, it teaches you useless magic?"

Harry could definitely feel the curiosity in Draco's tone. It may have been that Draco had been curious about it since he took it out while they were staying here and it had built up since.

"Something like that," replied Harry. "But there're some nice spells you stumble on sometimes."

"Like what?" snorted Draco, the diary in his lap abandoned.

"Like a Humor Holder Hex-"

"What does that do?"

"I wanted to use it on Seamus to make him stop being funny when he was making you laugh with his usual jokes."

"And why would you want to do that?"

"I was jealous," answered Harry truthfully. "I wanted you to laugh like that because of me, not Seamus and his Irish jokes."

This managed to silence Draco for a few seconds, and when Harry looked aside at him, Draco quickly averted his eyes, sporting a blush.

"Yeah, you do have a mean possessive streak, don't you?"

"Ah!" said Harry indignantly. "I'm not—I'm not possessive...!"

"Can't even allow people to make me laugh, yeah, you are," said Draco, looking to seek vengeance for Harry making him blush, no doubt.

"I'm not!" said Harry, in a high voice.

"'He's not yours! He's mine! And you won't hurt him again!'"

"That's not fair!" said Harry feebly, recalling saying these exact words at Voldemort three days ago. "That was... Voldemort and..."

Draco grinned at him smugly and shakily after recovering from shuddering at the name.

After this, the air between them was a thousand times lighter. Draco returned to his book, and Harry was just about to recast his Silencing and Read-Me-Aloud Charms before Draco quietly spoke up:

"Why did you want to read my father's diary?"

Dropping his wand, Harry shrugged, his stomach suddenly thick with guilt. "Don't know. You know, I do want to know what you do every moment of every day."

Draco blushed for the second time and looked away.

Harry smiled triumphantly, and his words were perfectly true – he was curious about everything Draco did – what he was doing, what he was thinking, feeling...

"I think he started writing it somewhere in mid-September. He might have thought they would go soon or something."

Harry looked down at the diary.

"What was he proud of about you?"

"What?"

"He said he was proud of you for something. What?"

"You saw it in here?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

Harry gently turned the diary while it was still in Draco's hand to the page where it had seen those mysterious words. When Harry came to the relevant page, Draco frowned down at it.

"You haven't read this far?" asked Harry.

Draco shook his head. "No."

Harry kept quiet as Draco frowned deeply while his eyes darted about on the page. Then Draco turned to him, but Harry couldn't decipher his expression, which stung particularly poignantly now.

"Read it?" he asked tentatively and quietly.

Draco didn't respond for several heartbeats, but then he looked down at the diary, kept quiet for a while, and then he began to read the words of his father's legacy to him:

* * *

_27__th__ September_

_**A Pride of Irony**_

_It was a night I will never forget._

_You stood beside me. I could feel you shaking, in spite of the distance between us. _

_Our Lord called me, and I pushed you forward._

_And you slowly approached the snivelling excuse of a being in front of you. You took out your wand, you raised it, said you incantation, and you failed to torture the old man._

_I had never been prouder of you than I was on that night of 21__st__ August._

_Shock, it may be to hear for you, but these words are certainly truest._

_I have raised you with an iron grip, haven't I?_

_Smothered you with the Darkest of the arts I could fathom, that I could find, didn't I?_

_I played my part, I prepared you well._

_And then you met him, and he met you, the son of his highest disciple. He was already impressed with you for more reasons than those which are plain, Draco._

_In front of him you stood as carved and sculpted as the finest image we could have imagined or hoped for._

_Those who cherished a fantastic desire__ to spit on the name Malfoy burned in ire; the Notts were jealous, the Carrows livid._

_Against those whispers behind our backs, my labour, Severus' labour, your own labour brought you finally towards that day... Yet you failed to Cruciate the wandmaker. _

_Why is that?_

_This is a question I fear I can only answer in part, and in answering it I would have to trudge back into old memories best left unstirred..._

_But for you own clarity, for a suggestion of your own deepest nature, I will attempt to explain at most in part._

_Although I taught you what I knew you were capable of, although I indoctrinated you and moulded you into an image we as the eternal servants of the Dark Lord look up to, I never wanted any part of that for you._

_Because I love you._

_The perfect truth was y__ou were too innocent to commit such atrocities; that night your nature prevailed in the face of purest evil standing mere feet from you despite everything you were made to become. That night you showed me who you truly were, and you were not a torturer._

_And I was proud._

_You may argue that I was furious with you that night for embarrassing our name, that I did do those things in the past, but I did it to protect you – you needed to be cultured, you needed to loathe the name of Harry Potter almost as much as the Dark Lord grew to do, you needed to be shaped, don't you understand? And ultimately presented as a refined product to our Lord the day he returned._

_You could have asked your godfather, you could ask me, but your mother's and my prospects of survival are woefully slim; the Dark Lord holds more than evil or Dark magic in his arsenal, Draco; he seems to wield a penchant for wooing fate to any of his slightest whims._

_But nothing can be taken from the truth that stands: through the hours through which you toiled, though you suffered under the threat of my staff, your heart remained unfazed, and you remained incapable of committing even the simplest of evils._

_I bow to you, my son._

* * *

There was only silence for the span of two minutes.

"He... he was proud of me..."

Pulling back, Harry wore a solemn expression as he stared down at Lucius' words. He couldn't say he wasn't surprised, yet he felt as though he had seen this coming in some weird, unfathomable way. He had known that in spite of the frosty layer on the outside, Lucius had loved his son, as much as a father could, and this now, reading these words, they surely shouldn't sound so shocking coming from him.

"He was proud of me," said Draco, in a stronger voice. "I didn't disappoint him... And I thought... He must have... I didn't know... But he looked so angry..." Draco shook his head as he gaped at the diary in front of him.

Harry had a few things to say to Draco, but he couldn't get his lips to open. It might be because he wanted to respect this moment for him. It wasn't about them – it was about father and son, about a deceased father and a living son.

He heard Draco sniff, but he didn't want to look up at him. Draco lowered himself into the bed and stared upwards at the ceiling as the diary lay on his chest. After some moments, he closed the diary, put it on the top of his drawer, and turned in his bed to face Harry, rubbing his eyes.

"When are you finishing with that?"

"It's nothing. I was just about finished anyway," Harry replied, but he got the real message.

As Harry chucked _Useless Magic_ away and held Draco, it made him feel that much worse to think of what he was going to do a few hours from now.

Draco managed to find sleep some thirty minutes after that.

It was a wearisome war of a wait till midnight which Harry almost didn't win, following several dips and resurfacing from threatening pockets of sleep. He should have set his alarm for it, but it may be too late for that now. Yawning widely such that some jaw bones cricked, and ignoring the dampness of his nightshirt from Draco's tears, Harry heaved himself up to a sitting position, making sure to extract Draco from his person with care. He looked down at his sleeping boyfriend before his eyes then darted to the brown book perched on his bedside drawer. He swooped down and placed a solemn kiss on Draco's forehead, took his wand from under his pillow and his silver watch from the top of the drawer, and then, as he pointed his wand at his watch, muttered, "_Read Me Aloud_."

"Twenty-four – zero – four."

Harry gathered it was 24:04 – Yes, it was too late to feel any perceptible change the spell may have effected; he felt unconfident again; it only dawned on Harry now how it could damage their relationship if the Chassio rang; what if the spell hadn't worked? What if he hadn't cast it properly, followed the instructed exactly, messed up at some point? The Chassio would ring, and all would be over. There was little chance things could go back to normal however large a dosage of time servable, even, he believed.

But reconsidering what Hermione had said, Harry rallied at once and decided to flip the coin – very slowly, he slipped out of the covers, but couldn't help giving Draco a quick peck to his forehead again, padded around the bed as he had hours ago, opened the drawer soundlessly, whispered, "_Lumos_," and with trepidation peered down at the Chassio – the red pointer of the third outer ring was resting safely almost the whole way around the clock – a comfortable distant away from the thickest line – the ritual had worked; relief washed him, but still with some trepidation left, extended his hand towards the book as he kept both eyes on the Chassio, touched the book, and noticed that the pointer barely stirred. With newfound confidence now, Harry lifted the brown tome with two hands, carefully went over to the door, and with a sigh of relief, he slipped out.

"Hermione." He rapped on the door. "Hermione," he whispered again, "I got it – I got the book."

Some moments passed before there were sounds of bare feet upon the floor and then the door unlocked and swung open.

It was a sight he had scarcely expected: over Hermione's shoulder, Ron was sleeping on the bed, his long limbs stretched out haphazardly around him, his one arm in the place where Hermione must have been seconds earlier.

The fact that Hermione and Ron were seeing each other hit him more sharply than ever as he stepped into the room, but Harry turned his back on the bed, faced Hermione, and handed her the book, suddenly dispassionate.

"Oh yes! So it worked, then, what you got out of that book? Changing—disguising your intentions?"

"Yeah, obviously."

A pause the space of a heartbeat ensured before Hermione cleared her throat and widened her eyes afresh at the book as though seeing it for the first time again.

"Okay! Well, you know, I went to the library to try and find what that word was exactly. We knew it started with 'necri-' or 'necro-', right? And there was something I found, but I don't think it's what you saw exactly. I must not be. But anyway, you have the book now so let's just see then!"

Harry could detect Hermione was as uncomfortable with him in their bedroom as he was.

Hermione opened the book and flipped a few pages, and it took a mere two seconds before she gave a deep gasp that seemed to have come from the deepest parts of her lungs.

"And I knew it! But I didn't want to believe it...!"

"What?"

"Draco's trying to bring his parents back to life!"

"Come again?" said Harry, who was sure his ears heard wrong.

"Mwa?" rasped Ron, as he slowly came to from the dead.

Hermione's lower jaw was quivering as it hung open-mouthed.

Seeing that she seemed incapable of answering him, Harry went round to see for himself, but again his bad vision played its part yet again.

"Ron, come see," said Harry, encouraging Ron to lumber sluggishly out of the bed and to come over, and when he did, Harry said, "Read what it says here, yeah."

But still, for some reason, even without the aid of Ron's voice, some words seemed to spring out of the book.

"Mnall right, all right," said Ron, before he yawned, while Hermione was still frozen where she stood holding the book.

* * *

_Devius Pondera_, page 446, Section C, Chapter 21, _Reanimation_

**21.4. Necromancy**

"Ah, yes, what had been one of the Dark Lord's sharpest and most penetrating arrows in his arsenal – the rising dead."

**- **Prof. X Dolohov, Durmstrang Institution

(**necromancy** | nekr()mansi | _n._ ME. **[**OFr. _nigromancie_ f. (med.L) _nigromantia_ alt. f. Gk _nekromanteia_, f. as NECRO- + -MANCY (later refash. after L & Gk).**]** **1 **The art of prediction by supposed communication with the dead; magic, enchantment, conjuration. Also, an instance of this)...

* * *

"Oi, this is deep stuff, mate..." breathed Ron, marvelling at the book vaguely.

It took Harry a total of five seconds to move again, to begin to absorb what he had just heard.

"They're using words like 'reborn', 'revival', 'deadnight's blessing' 'thurma—what? Thurmaturgy'. What chapter is this...? Chapter twenty-one, _Reanimation_. Bloody hell..." Ron seemed completely wide awake now.

"He's trying to bring back his parents," said Harry, rolling the words on his tongue, but he simply couldn't taste them, couldn't believe them.

"If you tell me you're kidding and this book is not real, I'll eat a hippogriff."

In a sort of dreamlike trance, having barely registered Ron's words much less anything else, he slipped the book out of Hermione's frozen hands and softly removed himself from the room. He traversed the house and entered into the master bedroom.

It was dark and cool.

He went round to replace the book on the top of Draco's drawer, then went back round to slide his wand under his pillow, and as soon as he slipped back into the covers, Draco animated, but this barely alarmed him.

"Is Harry... Harry?" Draco's arm waved about haphazardly, while his eyes remained shut. "What time is it?" he sighed, as he settled back.

"Just after midnight," answered Harry quietly, without looking at him.

Draco nodded soundly and then said, "Wake me up at two, must... must see it..."

"What's this you need to see?" asked Harry softly, still staring anywhere else but at a clearly delirious Draco, who, however, gave a deep sigh of finality which seemed to sink him into the bed with somnolence, and so unanswered, Harry settled himself into the covers and put his head down on the pillow.

While sleep whispered seductively at him in and out, twisting itself along his consciousness until Harry was suspended between being awake and asleep wherein the white of his eyes showed as strips and time seemed to zigzag back and forth enigmatically – it may have been minutes or hours later, but yet again Harry was ultimately bade farewell to dreamland by the soft, sweet smell of vanilla essence and by the soft, beautiful touch of Draco's fingers caressing his face.

**Author's note:**

1. The definition of the word necromancy is adapted from _The Oxford Interactive Encyclopedia_. Developed by The Learning Company, Inc. Copyright (c) 1997 TLC Properties Inc. All rights reserved.


	3. Disruption & Detachment

**Chapter 3**

**Disruption & Detachment**

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

_Click, tap, __thud, click..._ The sound of claws and paws upon unpaved earth.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

A growl here, a snarl there, a snap here, and a bark there...

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

"_Harry, I really hope you and Malfoy – can I call him your boyfriend? – I really hope you become happy, really, really happy; nobody else deserves it more than you do, mate!"_

"_Harry..."_

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

"_Co..."_

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

"Harry, wake up, why don't you? It's breakfast!"

Harry's head reared to the noise.

"Tibby's here and, um, well, she has brought breakfast but we've politely asked her to hang around for a bit – you know, so we can, hem hem, ask her some questions, but she won't answer anything we ask her, so I think you could work your Harry Potter charm on her and see if she opens up, plus she saw you with Draco; she might think you're with him and so she could answer you... Draco is gone, by the way. He was acting very strangely."

Yawning as his forehead furrowed with disorientation typical of the morning, Harry peeled the covers away and turned upright in the bed, in which he subsequently noticed Draco didn't lie.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry. As I said, we need you to speak with Tibby. If could please hurry up."

Through the green glue stuck to his eyelashes, Harry stared at the empty space next to him.

"Why're you keeping her?" Harry asked in confusion, without looking away from where Draco was supposed to be sleeping.

He heard a loud cluck of a tongue from behind the door.

"As I said," came Hermione's tightly spoken and muffled words, "we need you so we can ask her about some things. I for one want to know why Malfoy went to Malfoy Manor at eight o' clock in the morning and what those Spouse-Sparing things and all that were."

"Draco's gone..." said Harry, half-asking and half-stating it.

"Yes, so excellent of you to have noticed! Would you please get ready?"

"Er... yeah, sure... in a minute."

"Thank you!"

She sounded anything but thankful.

Confounded beyond anything, which had little to do with the fact that it was morning, Harry groggily padded around the bed and entered the bathroom wherein he showered and brushed his teeth at record speed before emerging back into the bedroom, drawing out his clothes for the day from his bag, restoring them to full size, and slipping them on. Then he slipped his wand from under his pillow but then noticed that his silver watch was missing from the top of the drawer, where he had placed it the night before. His eyes darting to the empty bed, he thought perhaps Draco had burrowed it; who else could have?

The puzzle unsolved in his head, Harry went over to the door and opened it, whereupon the aroma of sweet vanilla softly greeted his nose, before he weaved through the house, and finally entered the sitting room where he found Ron, Hermione (he had a weird feeling seeing these two again after last night), Dean, and Seamus clustered around a terrified-looking Tibby, while six full trays of breakfast steamed on the table invitingly; Harry's stomach meowed longingly at the smell that wafted through the vanilla aroma at his nose.

"Morning," he greeted, as he weaved through them and found a seat.

"Hey, Tibby."

Tibby's left knee started trembling again.

"Tibby must return home at once, Harry Potter!" she squeaked, in a voice of timid urgency.

"Harry," whispered Hermione, edging closer to him, "ask her why Draco went to Malfoy Manor."

Still not quite believing that Draco wasn't in the house, even though he had woken up in an empty bed and even though Draco had alluded to returning to said home, Harry turned back to the house-elf and, trying very hard to ignore his steaming breakfast, asked, in a fittingly detached voice, "Can you tell me why Draco went to the manor?"

Tibby's left leg was wobbling horribly on its trembling knee. Her eyes sparkled and grew wider – reflecting any and all sources of light in the room.

"Tibby is to return home at once, Harry Potter, at once!" squeaked Tibby in terror, her lips quavering.

"I know that, Tibby," replied Harry gently, shimmying to the edge of his seat, alarmed by her own alarm rather than because he was involving himself more, "but we just want to know what he's doing. Please. What's happening at Malfoy Manor? What is a Spouse-Sparing Spell? What does it do?" But now Harry wasn't so disengaged, for he had now woken up properly and he did feel a curiosity about what Draco was up to.

Tibby shook her head so violently that Harry was worried that it would fly right off her shoulders – surpassing Nearly Headless Nick with flying colours – and land in his calling breakfast.

"Tibby must not answer such questions, Harry Potter! Tibby must return to Master Draco! Master Draco may need Tibby! Tibby must go now!"

"No wait!" shouted Harry, springing out of his seat, but Tibby hurriedly vanished into thin air with a loud _POP!_

"Well, that went well," remarked Hermione, after a moment of silence, glaring at Harry under her eyelids before huffing crossly.

"What did you expect me to do?" asked Harry indignantly. "You couldn't have expected her to bow low and confess all and sundry, even to Harry Potter; she's probably tied to the Malfoy name for all eternity! I seriously doubt her arse isn't branded with that." He pointed at the large, intricate Malfoy insignia carved in the low wooden table, from which Hermione looked away and pushed her chin upwards, apparently unconvinced and impervious to the crude joke while Dean and Seamus dared to chuckle even vaguely.

Harry turned his head left and right at the boys, none of whom seemed brave enough to touch their breakfast trays, which Harry didn't think ridiculous at all, actually, but his stomach clawing desperately at his skin, Harry nevertheless made to reach for his own but jerked back at Hermione's words.

"It could have gone so much better if you could have just quickly nipped into the bathroom and hadn't taken your sweet time performing your ablutions, then she wouldn't have been fretting and in such a hurry to get back."

"Fine. I'm sorry, then," said a really hungry Harry, on behalf of all of them, and his apology earned him thankful glances that he was prepared to lose the argument in favour of their steaming breakfast, even though his shower hadn't been longer than ten minutes and even though he doubted Tibby would have divulged anything otherwise.

"Now who knows what's happening there! What if he comes back all changed? What if he kicks us out when he comes back or something?"

"Can't say that wouldn't be nice," mumbled Ron, who seemed to be doing his best not to stare in the direction of his breakfast tray.

"And then return to Hogwarts after we missed three whole days of teaching?" said Hermione incredulously.

"We wouldn't return to Hogwarts," said Harry, a little louder than necessary over the growl from his stomach. "We would be hunting."

Hermione studied him for several moments, and there was a visible deflation of her anger in light of what he had just stated.

"About that," she said, safely disarmed, and the boys' eyes flicked to their trays, "well, you know, yesterday really got me thinking when we found out about Draco trying to bring back his parents—all this undying stuff-"

"Draco's trying to bring back his parents?" blurted out Seamus incredulously, hunger quite forgotten.

"From what we could gather," said Hermione, in a clipped voice while she closed her eyes as though trying to reign herself in.

"Gather?" scoffed Ron loudly, whose incredulity was also eclipsing his hunger. "It was a done deal, in my opinion. I seem to recall reading words like 'reborn' and what not. No nous needed here and no need to be gathering anything – it's as clear as bloody daylight – Malfoy doesn't like being an orphan here so he just thought, 'Hey, why don't I just bring them back! Easy as that!'"

Hermione breathed in and out deeply as she stared at Ron.

"Are you serious?" Dean asked around him, seeming to think he was the only sane person left in the room. "Is that really what he's trying to do?"

Before anyone could respond, Harry waved his wand and said, "_Look Me Up: necromancy._"

In the sudden and absolute silence which followed, a cool, clipped, female voice rang aloud in the sitting room:

"Ne-cro-man-cy: Greek – noun, uncountable: divination by supposed communication with the dead; the art or practice of bringing somebody or something back to life-" The voice fell as Harry waved his wand.

"Fuckin' hell," said Dean vaguely, his widened eyes staring right through his breakfast.

"But what if it just means Draco just wants to _talk_ to his parents," proposed Seamus, as though Draco merely talking to his dead parents was far better than his trying to outright revive them from the dead.

"Nope," said Ron. "That book he was reading was definitely shifting towards bringing things that should be dead to life again. Let's just say it wasn't a 'light' read." Ron shivered slightly.

"As I was saying," said Hermione, "all this undying stuff really got me thinking about V—V—V—Voldemort's—Oh, do get a grip!" she shouted at Ron, Dean, and Seamus, for they had flinched horribly. "Voldemort! I was saying that yesterday got me thinking about Voldemort's Horcruxes. I think we should start talking about them."

"What's this now?" asked Seamus, with a touch of irritation in his voice, which suggested he wasn't too happy about these rolling revelations from the three of them of which he and Dean hadn't been aware, but there was also something hollow about his voice; he may not have recovered from the shock of learning Draco's suspicious intentions.

"But shouldn't we wait for Draco to come back before we discuss it?" asked Harry. "He's in this too."

Hermione stared at him with widened and slightly glazed-over eyes, and she seemed to be on the verge of arguing.

"But, Harry..." she blurted out, nevertheless, and subsequently appeared to be lost for further words. She shook her head silently with the strangest smile on her lips. Harry thought she was less inclined with the idea of involving Draco in their plans after they found out what he had been up to.

"He's part of this too," reiterated Harry stubbornly. "Forgot that piece on the Killing Curse that he gave us, which had more info on Horcruxes than whatever you have been able to dig up so far?"

"But still he didn't agree to hunting them with us," argued Hermione swiftly, before Harry could speak further, that strange smile not quite gone yet. Perhaps considering what they were discussing, she seemed beyond offended at Harry's insinuation that her research on Horcruxes hadn't been particularly productive. "You just said in front of him that we would hunt them together; you didn't ask him if he wanted to come along with us-"

"Still, we don't know that he definitely doesn't want to do it," argued Harry, unshaken.

"Taking the fact that he's a slimy Slytherin ferret that did nothing but cower behind your back back in Hogsmeade, I'd say I definitely know what he'd choose," drawled Ron flatly.

"And you don't know him like how I do."

"Know him?" said Ron, his eyes widening in disbelief, yet what was unusual was that he retained a certain amount of collectedness. "You think you really know him?"

"Yeah, I reckon so," said Harry forcefully.

"After seeing him for less than a month, that is?" asked Ron, still in that incredulous but calm manner, to which, as it was something positively unprecedented from Ron, Harry didn't know how to react and which was consequently succeeding superbly in riling him up.

"Sure, why not?" said Harry aggressively again, an insidious feeling of betrayal encroaching him.

On the other couch, Hermione didn't at all appear as though she were going to intervene but rather that she too wanted the answers to the questions Ron was posing so irksomely composedly at him.

"Hm, let's consider that, why don't we?" said Ron, in that new, airy, ringing voice with which he was familiarizing himself these days. "How long have you 'known' Malfoy, exactly? How long have you been dating him? A month? Maybe less? And let's not forget there's just been _so_ much drama happening even just at Hogwarts that it was probably near impossible for the two of you to have had a good, hearty chat and get to really _know_ each other and be all chipper, and of course keeping in mind he's a Slytherin by nature, sure, Harry, you know him like the back of your hand!"

It was silent in that sitting room as Harry glared at Ron, who was smiling back at him metallically and with eyes that were staring at him more than they were glaring.

"I think I know my boyfriend more than anyone else in here," said Harry quietly.

"Oh no, Harry!" said Ron swiftly, unusually unfazed by the word 'boyfriend' and still in that high, animated voice, "that is not the argument here! Naturally you would! The argument in fact is _how_ much you _think_ you know him!"

"Just shut your trap, will you, _mate_?" said Harry, narrowing his eyes at Ron, whose act was now getting on his nerves.

Ron, surprisingly, did so and hitched that silent, metallic smile on his face again, staring straight ahead through Hermione.

There was another silence in which the air seemed to sparkle invisibly with the tension as Harry, with a clenched jaw, glared a hole through the side of Ron's face and as Ron continued to stare ahead of him still with that smiling, clown-mask-like expression.

"Let's eat!" announced Seamus abruptly, going out on a limb.

Harry and Ron made in no way to reach for their trays, but Dean and Seamus gladly did so, turning slightly away from the both of them while they tucked in.

"But, Harry," began Hermione cautiously, "I think Ron has a point here."

"Yeah, after that impressive argument of logic, you must be sweating under your clothes. You've been coaching him well."

This, Harry was extremely glad to notice, broke that mask-like expression of Ron's as something flickered past it.

Dean and Seamus ate faster.

"Excuse me?" said Hermione.

"Hermione hasn't done anything of the sort, _mate_," said Ron in a clipped voice, dropping his fixed, mask-like smile. "I simply shoved the truth in your face."

"You wouldn't know the truth if it kicked you in the arse, you fuckin' cunt."

"Oh!" exclaimed Ron suddenly, clapping his hands with a return of that clown-mask-like expression of excitement. "You're even starting to swear like him too!"

This did it for Harry; without bothering with a wand, Harry flew at Ron, who sprung to his feet, but Dean seemed to have anticipated this, as he speedily threw his tray to the side and inserted himself between Harry and Ron, looking down at the floor, uncertain but quite impenetrable.

"This is the last thing we need right now," growled Hermione, glaring up at the both of them through her eyelashes as her chest oscillated deeply. "We have to keep level-headed and together. This is above us all, way bigger than us, way bigger than fights between friends. Sit down, the both of you – now."

After about a minute of glaring at each other around Dean's head, Harry and Ron slowly lowered themselves to their seats, and after checking that both parties were safely disarmed, Dean dropped back into his seat and reclaimed his disarrayed breakfast tray.

"Let's not forget," Harry said, in a quiet voice, "that tiny little fact that Voldemort raped Draco." He let the effect of these words pervade the entire sitting room and to mellow before he spoke again. "He forced him to have sex with him, twice, and he killed his godfather, not to mention his parents; I think you'd agree when I say he wants Voldemort finished as much as I do, if not more."

The flush in Ron's face turned blotchy.

Dean and Seamus were looking down at their breakfast, now eating slowly and sombrely.

Hermione was fiddling with her fingers as she stared at her breakfast tray on the table.

Everyone looked decidedly uncomfortable after Harry's words.

"By the way, in case you were wondering," said Harry, as he reached for his tray, shooting his words at Dean and Seamus, who froze, "that huge dog that attacked two of those Death Eaters that Voldemort said was Sirius Black is my godfather. He was an Animagus at the time."

After a moment, Dean and Seamus nodded meekly before they sipped their tea.

"How did Draco go to Malfoy Manor, anyway?" Harry asked Hermione, who then followed suit and reached for her own breakfast tray. "Portkey?"

"Um, no," replied Hermione, as she buttered her croissant, the butter knife in her hand shaking slightly. "He used some other device; maybe it was that Cassio thing you mentioned earlier."

Harry frowned. "Chassio. Really? So it's an alarm, a compass, and a Portkey."

"It has a built-in compass?" asked Hermione.

Harry nodded, bringing his toast to his mouth. "Looks like it. I think we're somewhere north-west."

"From where?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe Hogwarts, or Malfoy Manor, his 'true' home." Harry's eyes fell on the untouched sixth tray on the table. "I assume he wasn't hungry."

Hermione shook her head as she chewed. "Didn't have an appetite, apparently. He was something else this morning – weird. And the way he was dressed..."

"What was he like? How was he dressed?"

Hermione's eyes darted to the others before she spoke again.

"The moment we saw him, we nearly cursed him into devolution. You could have sworn it was Malfoy striding through his own house. But he was distant, like, you know? Vague, but he was purposeful, still."

Harry chewed on these words.

"He was blazing hot, in short," said Seamus.

The few white spots in Ron's blotchy face filled with colour again.

"Yesterday," Harry began, in spite of not feeling particularly generous to share anything with them, especially next to a certain, red-haired someone, "he read something from Malfoy's diary; that might have upset him. It did upset him."

"And what was that?" asked Hermione delicately.

Harry halted and assessed the aspects of this question. Could he share what he had heard Draco read from his father's diary?"

"Er—Oh, you don't have to answer, Harry!" said Hermione hurriedly. "Sorry for asking!"

"Fine. Let's just say Lucius Malfoy was some heck of a character." And Harry couldn't help the feeling that – in fact, he thought it was almost certain – there was something Lucius had skated over in that entry dated 27th September.

"So let me summarize this conversation, if you will allow," said Seamus, swallowing and clearing his mouth of food. "We are not going to discuss these Horxicrumbs thingies until Draco comes back, and Draco's trying to resurrect his dead parents."

"That's the gist of it, yeah," said Harry, and a strange smile dropped onto his face.

"Eventful," observed Seamus.

Quite out of the blue, Hermione suddenly started chuckling to herself, and Harry stared at her for a moment before he joined her, followed by Ron, who started giggling silently in his seat too until all three were clutching at their stomachs and crying their body fluids out.

Indeed it was something to be said to think that they could discuss so casually something as heinous as Horcruxes and the resurrection of the dead, and evidently it was something to laugh about as well.

After getting himself under control, and considerably less annoyed at Ron, Harry then briefly watched one of the curtained windows of the sitting room.

"How's it outside?" he asked, though he thought he had guessed the answer; the sitting room wasn't exactly bright.

"Very gloomy," replied Ron, readily extending the olive branch, and shaking his head ruefully, his cheeks bulging with his breakfast. "Hermione reckons there might be a storm coming, actually."

Harry whistled under his breath appreciatively, and then, remembering last night, and with a twitch of his lips, he asked, "So did you manage to kick the door open yesterday?"

Hermione instantly dropped her croissant and made a clucking noise of irritation.

"That infuriating door is still standing! I tried everything! This place is really freaky, isn't it? With all these things happening around. I mean, doors with strange markings that can't be opened, a library whose every second book has something to do with the Dark Arts in some way or another, and worst of all this smell!"

"I think it smells lovely," remarked Seamus uppishly.

"Malfoy isn't here to impress, Seamus," deadpanned Ron.

"It's not a question of how lovely it smells," said Hermione, "but why it smells in the first place."

Harry's eyes instinctively flew to Ron's lips, which, as predicted, had opened, but Ron demonstrated surprising reserve, as his blue eyes found Harry before he fell silent without uttering a word. This stifled the remaining ghosts of his anger towards him, and Harry appreciated it, for he knew Ron had been on the verge on saying something along the lines of, 'He was probably tired of his own ferret-shit and decided to dress it up, plus he was having guests.'

"Just what is making the smell behind that door...?" mused Hermione softly, as she chewed.

"Maybe he has a bakery in there," suggested Ron. The ridiculous neutrality of these words registered with Harry, and he smiled in amusement, but it shortly fell quite suddenly.

"Or he's trying to cover up something else, another smell..." said Harry, his heart suddenly beating fast as some two threads courted each other to connect in his head.

"Like what?" asked Dean, while Hermione turned to Harry and fixed her eyes on him.

It surely couldn't be... Yet, as the question Hermione had just posted musingly rang in his head, Draco's words floated up to the fore of his mind softly and patiently alongside those of their suspicions towards him.

Harry took a moment to collect himself, making sure he had the entirety of his mind, but his eyes couldn't help but dart to Hermione's hazel ones, in which he found a curiosity screaming for satisfaction.

"He told me," he began, but he had to swallow. "He said that his parents were here... under storage... and he had some things to do with them."

Hermione sprung to her feet.

"So he _is_ trying to bring them back! They're here! In this house! The—the—the—the smell – it's to cover up—cover up the smell of rot...!"

Harry's brain was working fast, while the others seemed short for words.

"But why didn't you say anything until now?" asked Hermione shrilly. "It—all this time—these days in here...! And it was beginning to grow on me...!" She choked and wrung on her neck.

Seamus laughed mirthfully.

"Wait, wait, wait – wait a shitting, blazin' moment," he said, as he wagged his finger and as he shook his head with yet another of those strange smiles which had infected all of them save Dean. "You telling me that this smell is to cover up another smell of rotting corpses somewhere in this house—no, behind this apparent door you were trying to break down yesterday, where I thought the both of you were just over-excited in your bedroom?"

As soon as Seamus finished asking this, Hermione started pacing nervously, seemingly having not registered the innuendo.

"He's actually going to do it," she rapped feverishly. "He's going to try and bring them back..."

"But..." said Harry feebly, as he rose to his feet too. "But... maybe I read him wrong – maybe when he said he had something to do with them he meant he wanted to bury them."

"And that book, Harry?" asked Hermione, still pacing furiously, "Necromancy? All that ring a bell? Can you connect the dots?"

Indeed he could, but it simply wasn't possibly, it simply wasn't believable.

"We'll ask him," said Harry, shaking his head in a certain yet uncertain way and looking up at Hermione from her feet, which were wearing a trench in the floor. "We'll just have to ask him. He could have meant it in a different way... that book – like Seamus said – maybe he just wanted to talk to them for one last time before he said goodbye and buried them properly. Necromancy has two meanings, don't it?"

Harry waved his wand and listened closely again at the cool voice of the female:

"Ne-cro-man-cy: Greek – noun, uncountable: divination by supposed communication with the dead; the art or practice of bringing somebody or something back to life, an instance of this."

"We'll just have to confront him," said Harry decisively, letting his wand fall.

"Okay, okay, okay," gibbered Hermione, shaking her head as she paced. "Confront him. Make it sort of an intervention or something. Does he just want to speak to them for one last time and then bury them properly, or does he want to bring them back to life completely and have us all eating and sleeping amongst reanimated corpses."

With a certain amount of certainty, Harry dropped back down on his couch, nodding to himself, trying to affirm it, willing it not to fade into doubt with time.

"Which one is more likely, but?" asked Ron cautiously. "And, mate, I'm really not trying to take a dig at him, it's just, well, he's Malfoy; what would he probably do? He's probably never been without them in his entire life up until now. He's spoilt and probably doesn't know how to wipe himself properly. He can barely stand on his own two feet! Every second word that used to come out of his mouth was his father this and his father that-"

"Ron," said Harry, "let's just wait for him to back before we can judge him, can't we?" But Ron's words had the intended effect on him, and, despite himself, he agreed with each one of Ron's points. He ran his hands through his hair, giving a long sigh. He then looked up at the clock surmounting the mantle, and it read 09:22. When would Draco be back?

_POP!_

Hermione screamed and Seamus jumped backwards and fell behind the couch.

An expression of surprise and a frown flashed past Tibby's face as she looked at Hermione, and then her eyes went over to Seamus, who climbed back over the couch, rubbing his arse. Harry didn't think he was imagining a look of discreet satisfaction in her face, but next second, Tibby snapped her fingers wordlessly, which Harry didn't find amusing in the slightest now, and cleared the empty trays.

"Tibby," said Harry desperately, and at her name, Tibby's huge dark-blue eyes warily swivelled to him just as her fingers froze, moments away from making her disappear.

"What's Draco doing now?"

Tibby took a moment to reply. She seemed to have picked up on the tension that had built in the room after Harry's revealing words, for her eyes went around them all before returning to him.

"Master Draco is attending to important matters, is Master Draco, Harry Potter."

"But what are these important matters? What letters and keys were you talking about?"

"Tibby is forbidden by the enchantments that bind Tibby and her kind, Harry Potter; Tibby shall not divulge any of the workings of the noble and ancient family of Malfoy."

These words came with a branded, rehearsed, and automatic feel to them, which wasn't at all encouraging to Harry.

"Okay but then what's he doing? Is he looking around the manor? Is he writing something?"

Tibby hesitated, her eyes defocusing slightly and darting about before Harry.

She nodded. "Master Draco was writing something, yes, Harry Potter."

"What?" asked Harry quickly, with fresh heart.

"What Master Draco was writing is confidential, Harry Potter. Tibby is forbidden by the enchantments that bind Tibby and her kind, Harry Potter; Tibby shall not divulge any of the workings of the noble and ancient family of Malfoy, sir."

Harry looked at Hermione and the others. There was no use.

"All right," he said dejectedly. "Thanks, Tibby, you can go."

And she promptly did this without sparing another moment: _POP!_

"She's nothing like Dobby," remarked Ron ruefully. "He's like the only elf on this planet that has any personality whatsoever and that can think for himself."

"I don't think you could expect a house-elf to have any kind of personality if it recites words like she just did," remarked Hermione. "I didn't imagine that look in her eyes, did I?"

There was a soft rumble of thunder outside.

"No you didn't," said Seamus, shaking his head woefully. "And I thought they were living the high life in huge manors and all..."

It was an air of stunning morbidity and tension which lived amongst them in that room. For Harry, it was an affair between his unsightly thoughts and the slowly ticking clock hanging on the wall, to which he turned with each passing minute, it seemed. And so the usual routines took over again: all of them were reading something or other, be it that from the Malfoy Library, _Useless Magic_, _Quidditch of the Connoisseur_, or _The Hogwarts Howler_, which Harry was now reading through Seamus' quiet voice on the two-seater settee:

* * *

_The Hogwarts Howler_, page 3

**GALEFORCE GAYS GALORE**

Harry and Draco's Relationship Inspires Other Gay Couples to Spring out of the Closet!

It was a phenomenon as Hogwarts had never seen it. After it emerged that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were sharing more than just a rivalry, what followed was a furious fusillade of boys and girls from all Houses – yes, even Slytherin, if you can believe it – literally taking a leap of faith out the closet as homosexuals. We at _The Hogwarts Howler_ applaud these brave students!

"I Kissed a Boy and I Liked It!"

Lavender and I recently sat down with two boys who say that they have loved each other since as early as second year. They wished to remain anonymous, so we will from here on refer to them as, by their respective requests, CockyCrotch .45 and Sprinkly.

_THH_: How did you two meet?

{CockyCrotch .45 chuckles}

CockyCrotch .45: At Hogsmeade, in Honeydukes. I found him looking for the fake wands, you know those long, pranking ones. I asked him what he wanted to do with it and he just stood there stammering, and the way he was holding it...

_THH_: How was he holding it?

{Sprinkly slaps CockyCrotch .45 in shoulder}

CockyCrotch .45: Okay I won't tell! I can't tell.

_THH_: Fair enough. So, CockyCrotch .45, I understand you were the straight one. How did you come about being in a relationship with another boy, exactly?

{CockyCrotch .45 nibbles on lips thoughtfully}

CockyCrotch .45: That's a tough one… But it was sorta gradual, you know? I never believed in a million years I would be looking at another bloke the way I've started to. I guess it was easy for me to like because, well, sorry, Sprinkly, he's sort of shy and you have to like chase him around…

Sprinkly: Spankin' Merlin…

{Sprinkly shakes his head and puts it in his hands}

CockyCrotch .45: …And we guys love to chase, you know? So, I don't know where I crossed the lines. I think it was when I started noticing that he was looking at me a lot and then he would quickly look away. It really isn't something you can talk about, you know, so it just becomes one of those small, unsaid things in life, but it builds and builds until I almost didn't find it strange when we started teasing each other about who was the ponce or whatever – you know.

_THH: _So it was a very gradual thing, you say?

CockyCrotch .45: Yeah. I can't say it surprised me, our first kiss, things were happening leading up to that moment, and they were things you usually don't speak about, some accidental touches and things, things like that. It's like he was a flower I had to open up, and I don't know why I felt I wanted to do it. It was a challenge, and I love a good challenge just like love a good Quidditch game.

_THH_: I see. So how do you feel about dating another boy? Sprinkly can answer this one too.

CockyCrotch .45: It really isn't that different at all. I mean, I know I haven't been exactly a pre-Harry Malfoy bunny – I heard he was quite busy before this year – but I don't think it differs too much. Snogging is snogging, feelings are feelings, you know.

_T__HH_: And sex isn't sex, I reckon.

CockyCrotch .45: Well yeah, there's that, er, little difference. The tighter the better, I say.

{Sprinkly punches CockyCrotch .45 in the shoulders again}

_T__HH_: Oh! So, Sprinkly, you're a bottom!

{Sprinkly turns pink}

{CockyCrotch .45 laughs at Sprinkly}

CockyCrotch .45: You did yourself in, you wanker!

Sprinkly: You just as well said it!

CockyCrotch .45: It's fucking amazing! And the sounds he makes... blimey!

Sprinkly: For Helga's teapot, _shut up_!

_T__HH_: Okay, okay, okay! As much as I would love – wait, we're going to continue this discussion after this, right? – we have to move on. Do you think Hogwarts – hell, all of society, really – should accept you, and why?

CockyCrotch .45: We're just people, just like them! There's nothing different about us! We're not four-headed goblins or anything! We deserve every right that they have!

_TH__H_: And you, Sprinkly?

Sprinkly: Same goes for me, I guess.

CockyCrotch .45: Come one, where's all that passionate stuff you were spouting to me at the beginning? Tell them! Go on!

{Sprinkly shakes his head chastely}

_THH_: Okay, let's leave that there; Sprinkly doesn't look comfortable with this. There's a gay movement happening in Hogwarts – I think it's called—

Sprinkly: Drarry's Homosexuals Anonymous. Yeah, we're definitely going. He's my he—they're my heroes.

CockyCrotch .45: No, he got it perfectly right in the beginning – he couldn't stop blabbing on about Draco Malfoy, and he couldn't stop hating him too.

_THH_: Why hate the Slytherin Sex Sprig and the second* hottest bloke in the country? Because you couldn't have him?

Sprinkly: It's not that! No! He—he—he—he was just... He was... unattainable. He was like me in many ways. I hadn't had the courage to walk up to him – he's in Slytherin – my Housemates would have crucified me, and of course that loose tongue of his. He's just... he was something sweet and sharp – so handsome and yet so ugly, you know?

CockyCrotch .45: Um, you still like _me_, yeah?

_THH_: I got every word you said, Sprinkly, and I agree with you...

{Parvati sighs and stares into distance}

_THH_: Unattainable... So handsome yet so ugly... If only...

_THH_: Going back to the matter at hand... What do you make of the Malinga-Bode issue?

{CockyCrotch .45's chest swells with fury}

CockyCrotch .45: Those [expurgated], [expurgated] gits should get crucified, see how they like it!

_THH_: And you, Sprinkly?

CockyCrotch .45: Hang ʼem! Why should Gormez the Gaunt be the only wizard to enjoy death by hanging in all of history? Hang em! They're simply anything else but human! They're no better than—what's that dude the Muggles were apparently terrified of, killed some eleven million people or their pets or something…? Hitter! Dolf Hitter! They're not better than him! Hang! Death penalty!

_THH_: I was asking Sprinkly too.

Sprinkly: I don't think they realize how it makes the other person feel, and I don't think they will until he actually does himself in. It's an ugly thing, really.

CockyCrotch .45: Their day will come, you just wait, their day will come...

_THH_: Are there any final messages you want to put out there?

CockyCrotch .45: Yeah, that Bode and Malinga should turn around and [expurgated] each other in the arse and stop bothering and buggering other people's!

Sprinkly: Just let us be, guys, please, that's all we're asking.

CockyCrotch .45: And, and, I am proud to be gay! Yeah! I'm happy where I am, happy with myself, and more than happy with Sprinkly here! Who knew I'd be here today, but guess what, mum, dad, I'm a poof, and I kissed a boy and I liked it!

{CockyCrotch .45 snogs Sprinkly deeply}

{Lavender swoons and falls off chair}

* * *

"What you reading?" asked Ron, as he jumped from behind their couch.

"I Kissed a Boy and I Liked," answered Harry, turning a page.

"Oh," said Ron, with sudden glumness, before he hopped away, jumped on Hermione's couch, and asked her, "What you reading?"

It appeared Ron had nothing better to do than ask people what were they reading, of course having never considered doing this himself.

"Some book I got from the Hogwarts library to help us with The Hunt," replied Hermione.

"Oh," said Ron, with even deeper glumness.

"Have you found anything?" asked Harry, surprised by Hermione; he had forgotten the quick dash she had made to the library before they disappeared from the corridor in Hogwarts.

Hermione shook her head, pouting despondently as she flicked through the book without heart.

"They barely mention the word," she said, in a voice of utter despair as though she had been betrayed by a lover. "Even the Darkest books at Hogwarts didn't allude to them in the slightest."

Harry nodded, not wishing to ask further questions, for he wanted Draco to be there when they would discuss the matter, and he didn't have to wait for long, for at that moment he got a shock of his life; his hand flew inside his pocket, his heart jumped up in his throat, and he was on his feet in a flash.

Lucius Malfoy was sauntering gracefully into the sitting room to reclaim his house. His hair was gleaming richly in defiance of the dim light in the sitting room, he was stunning in a thin, diamond-pattern-stitched blue leather garment over his black polo-neck shirt, dark-blue pants, and black snakeskin boots.

"A nice welcome-back-home reaction," he drawled, looking around them all.

Harry collapsed on the table, breathless with relief at the false alarm.

"Whafufufiwrongwithu?" he asked breathlessly, looking at him up and down, chest rising and falling deeply.

"And a good morning to you too, Potter."

Harry didn't reply but just lay there on the table, trying to recover his breath.

"Bloody Macc, Malfoy," said Seamus in awe, his eyes going over his form slowly and reverently, absorbing every stunning inch of him.

"What is it, Finnigan?" asked Draco, as though nothing at all about him was amiss.

"You're gorgeous!" blurted out Seamus, unable to himself. Dean gave a funny twitch of his head.

"Well, thank you, Seamus," said Draco, moving away from this person and towards the couch, while Hermione seemed to have been overcome by something, her eyes scanning him almost vacantly for the top down.

"Should've told us it was dress-up day today," said Ron, frowning in Draco's direction, also giving him a wary once-over, entirely unaware of Hermione's reaction. "We would have donned on our best gear too."

"Thought I wanted to stand out, rather," replied Draco aloofly, as he lowered himself onto the seat, crossed his arms and legs, and stared at Harry reposed on the table. "Malfoys cannot be any less than outstanding."

This familiar talk of Malfoy superiority spurred Harry's recovery of breath; he sat up on the table and stared at the person in front of him: his wardrobe was what recalled Lucius to Harry's mind the strongest; Harry noticed the silver watch gleaming just beneath the long sleeve; Draco's hair was sleeked perfectly such that it looked to be one with his shoulders, though it wasn't long enough to drape completely over them and on his back as Lucius' had been able to, but it was just as dazzling, and slicked back perfectly as it was, it exposed much of Draco's pale, pointed face, and never before had that crafted, controlled something about his beauty been more pronounced.

There was another rumble of thunder.

"Draco."

"Harry."

Before Harry could say anymore, Seamus shook out of his stupor and came over to sit next to Draco.

"Why you love saying his name whenever you see him for the first time boggles me," remarked Seamus, "but it's very cute."

"I find it _adorable_," said Draco, with an amused smirk.

It couldn't have been plainer that Draco was also referring to yesterday's debate over Harry's 'adorable' and 'awkard-ish' gait.

"I don't do that," mumbled Harry angrily, and before he could open his mouth to divert from where the conversation was going, Seamus spoke loudly over him to ensure his words prevailed.

"Yeah, you do, it's like you can't get enough of him so now to have to get it from his name too."

"Or he's got manners," said Draco, still staring at Harry.

"I go for manners," said Harry opportunistically, and before he could attempt again at changing the subject, Draco too spoke over him.

"But Draco is a name nice enough to want to say a thousand times over, so I can't fault him there."

"And why do you say Potter every time you fly off the handle?" countered Harry, who had had quite enough of being so beleaguered, blushing to his roots.

"No I don't," snorted Draco superciliously.

"I have to disagree there," said Seamus apologetically to Draco.

Hermione cleared her throat and reclaimed her seat. "Erm, however fun it would be to discuss name dynamics any further…"

"You're quite right, Granger," said Draco, now dusting himself off unnecessarily. "I know you're all curious. I thought it was pathetic to corner a house-elf and interrogate her like that. I had to Stun her, she was hysterical."

"You Stunned her?" gasped Hermione.

"It was justified, and it was your fault she was in that state."

"It was her idea, by the way," said Seamus, sycophantically disclaiming all blame.

"And she has the nerve to be surprised at me."

"Well, I didn't know it was going to affect her so much!" said Hermione indignantly.

"So what were you doing there?" asked Harry.

Draco ignored Hermione. "Sorting out stuff," he answered, seeming to know full well that this issue commanded the attention of each person in the room.

"What sort of stuff?" asked Harry carefully.

Draco shifted in his seat, and he seemed glad to have his arms already crossed, and so he merely adjusted them. "The investors' and trust fund letters arrived, and I signed wherever I need to. I also acquired my Gringotts key, as Tibby had said." His voice thinned strangely at the end of these words.

"So you're planning on going to Gringotts sometime on?" asked Harry.

Draco shrugged, looking down at the rug.

Hermione cleared her throat meaningfully, and when Harry looked up at her, she widened her eyes indicatively; clearly, she would like for them to start discussing burying Draco's parents. Harry looked back at her with half a glare, at which point she widened her eyes even more and repaid him with a full glare and interest to boot.

Harry turned back to Draco. "Draco-"

"You aren't gonna chuck us out, are you?" blurted out Seamus, before Harry could go on, sounding panicked.

Draco frowned at Seamus. "And why would I want to do that, Finnigan?"

Seamus winced as though Draco had insulted him by reverting to his last name, and he shook his head in silence, lest he push their luck.

"Forget it," said Harry, sliding closer to the edge of the table. He couldn't help a quick side-glance at Hermione before he spoke again. "We have to start talking about the Horcruxes."

With the corner of his eye he saw Hermione turning around where she sat with a look of utter disbelief on her face.

"The Horcruxes," said Draco, "those things that can supposedly store your soul?"

"Yeah, those," said Harry. "Voldemort-" His jawbone stood out against his cheeks as it clenched after feeling a swoop of anger at the flinch that rippled across the room. "Dumbledore says that Voldemort has made some."

"Six, to be exact," Hermione finished. "Which excludes the soul inside his revived body, so it makes a total of seven souls... the most magically powerful number, incidentally."

"I'm sorry?" said Seamus, angling his ear towards Hermione just as George had done to Harry, as though what they were saying would sound saner this way.

"So basically what you're saying is, You-Know-Who's got seven lives?" asked Dean, who seemed not to dare believe his ears.

"Voldemort," corrected Harry, "and yeah, that's about the gist of it." He hadn't thought of it in Dean's way, and it gave him an odd urge to smile again.

"Well, that's simply barmy," said Seamus, frowning hard.

"Voldemort is beyond barmy, Seamus," said Harry sadly. "In fact, Dumbledore said he was beyond the 'usual evil'."

"So now how the bloody hell do we get rid of him, then?" asked Seamus with force, as though applying such aggression to his words would make it easier to deal with.

Hermione went out of the room with a purposeful stride, and while she was gone, Harry rather suspected in the silence that they were all remembering the way Voldemort had looked on that Tuesday night, the way he had effortlessly shook their world, the way he was so powerful, that it was going to take some feat to go up against that.

Hermione returned seconds later with her bag, from which she took out a note written unbrokenly on its reverse in tall, slanting writing. She sat on the table next to Harry, while Ron, Seamus, and Dean inched closer to them.

"These are Dumbledore's suppositions on how to do just that. Haven't had time to look over it properly. Kind of hard to read it since it's so bunched up."

"And what's it say?" asked Seamus, as his hand made to slip the note out of Hermione's hand.

"NO!"

"NO!"

"NO!"

But it was too late. As soon as Seamus' lightly freckled hand touched the note, it burst into flames and fell as mere ashes into Hermione's lap.

There was a ringing silence.

The echoes of the soft sound of the combustion and the roars of Ron, Harry, and Hermione seemed to fall unnaturally sharply, smothered by the density of the silence that enveloped them.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT?" boomed Draco, leaping his feet, his hair flying ferociously as a white blur, his grey eyes erupting in the direction of each of them like molten lava.

"It—it—it—he was supposed to—they ignite when—when someone touches it," stuttered Hermione incredulously, "someone who isn't Harry's friend."

"WHATOUTHEFUCKISTHAT? WHAT SHITFUCKIN' IDEA IS THAT?"

"Dumbledore's idea," said Harry hollowly.

After flinching from the flames, Seamus was standing poker-straight among them, his eyes farseeing.

Deranged, Draco's head whipped from Hermione to Harry to Seamus. "FINNIGAN! YOU—YOU...!" But Draco couldn't draw enough breath to finish his sentence, and this did little to shake Seamus out of his stupor of realization of the damage he had just done.

Hermione was still gaping next to Harry, while Ron seemed torn between debilitating horror and being on the verge of striking Seamus.

"You idiot," said Dean softly, slapping his own forehead in despair.

"Hermione," said Harry, whose eyes had no desire to venture in the direction of Seamus at the moment, "do you remember any of it?"

"I—I just said I haven't, Harry..." she answered, shaking her head vaguely, still gaping, and she looked up at a pale, frozen Seamus with something like awe more than anything else.

Harry's mind was spinning rapidly.

"We start from scratch," he said bracingly, trying to evade his resignation, yet it was so tempting to fall back and give in, so tempting to plunge his fists into Seamus' face, and at that moment, a wand flashed from nowhere, was aimed at Seamus, and sent the Irish wizard sailing through the room.

Harry couldn't say he was shocked, nor could he say he felt sorry for Seamus at that moment. He looked away from where a dusty Seamus was pelted with books as they fell down from the stand in which he had crashed and at Draco, upon whose face was a wild fury, but Harry had enough sense to restrain him when he made forward to deal some more pain upon Seamus. For once, Ron looked in full agreement with Draco for what he had done, and the more he was attempting to do, and Harry distinctly heard him muttering, "That was an absolute jaffer." Hermione appeared not to have completely absorbed what had just happened, reminding Harry of Luna Lovegood and her dreamy ignorance of the world less crazy than her own.

"Draco," Harry warned quietly, fighting to hold him back, for Draco was giving him one; something seemed to have possessed him, and Harry couldn't blame him – he was the one who was raped by Voldemort's penis, tortured under his wand, and whose parents were murdered at his word. With sudden energy Draco lurched forward, the Chassio crashing out of his sweeping robes, but Harry tackled down him into the couch, where there waged a silent battle of limbs.

"We'll find another way, Draco," panted Harry whisperingly, as he struggled with him. "There has to be another way, there has to be..."

"Let me go, please let me go..." Draco had eyes for no one but Seamus, who was standing up slowly and dusting himself off despondently. Hermione, having recovered much of herself, went over to him and performed a few charms which removed the dust on him, relieved his pain somewhat, and repaired the broken bookstand.

"Please, please," gasped Draco, still looking at Seamus, still fighting against Harry to get to him, but Harry continued to writhe on him, trying to capture every limb he could.

"Just leave him, he didn't mean it – he didn't know."

"But he still did it," whispered Draco in a voice of awe, clawing at Harry, doing everything he can to get away from him and punish Seamus properly.

Hermione directed a rueful Seamus back into his seat next to Dean, who rubbed his back. Seamus looked down at his knees.

"Just let him do whatever he wants, Harry," said Seamus quietly. "He can blast me back to King's Cross if he wants to."

"Did you hear that, Harry?" asked Draco still in that breathy voice of awe, his grey eyes wide. He sounded – and looked – demented, at which Harry grew alarmed. "He wants me to do it."

"No one's blasting anyone to anywhere," declared Hermione. "We just have to think of another way." She started pacing quietly.

"You don't remember anything at all?" asked Ron, over Draco's breathy grunts of efforts while trying to fight off Harry. Ron was still looking at anywhere except Seamus.

"For the third time, I haven't looked at it properly; I have only seen bits of it."

"And what are those bits?"

"That Voldemort had made six Horcruxes and I can't really remember the rest – I should've done it properly, but Dumbledore and the DA and Hogsmeade and moving in here and Draco..." Hermione sighed quietly, still pacing and chewing her nails.

"Harry, where's your _Useless Magic_ book?" asked Ron promptly, turning to him. "There has to be a spell that brings back memories or something."

At this, Draco suddenly stopped moving, and Harry looked into his reddened, slightly watery grey eyes.

"Legilimency."

"Can you do it?" asked Harry, still holding onto Draco's arms.

Draco shook his head slowly, his widened grey eyes staring into Harry's almost as vacantly as glass.

"Can try." He turned to Hermione.

"Draco, you cannot just meddle with someone's mind – it can have devastating consequences."

In all of this drama, Hermione appeared to still have enough mind to fear for her intelligence as though in Draco's attempts at Legilimency there was a chance she would somehow become dumber or her mind would be scrambled irrevocably, something which she probably thought she could not ever risk.

"And I suppose you read that somewhere too?" asked Draco, in that slightly breathy, quiet voice still.

"I may have, yes," replied Hermione quite tartly.

Draco looked at her for a moment, and then his eyes found Seamus again, and as though he blamed him furthermore for Hermione's reluctance to perform amateur Legilimency on her, he started struggling again against Harry, ready to fly at Seamus.

"Draco," said Harry a little sharply, growing quite tired.

"WHAT?" roared Draco so suddenly that even Ron jumped. "HE MIGHT AS WELL HAVE DESTROYED THE ONLY WAY TO DESTROY THAT _SNAKE_!"

"It wasn't his fault!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! DON'T TELL ME IT WASN'T HIS FAULT! HIS FIFTHY HALF-BLOOD HANDS TOUCHED IT! AND THAT CROOKED-NOSE BUM AND HIS '_BRILLIANT_' MIND JUST HAD TO THINK UP OF AN EXPLODING LETTER _OF ALL THINGS_!"

"This isn't Dumbledore's fault," said Ron at once, defending his dead hero. "Why don't you just get a hold of yourself, mate, and save everyone the trouble, yeah?"

"Ron!" hissed Harry furiously, for at that moment, Draco went quiet and seemed to break in rage, possessed again by some force, which he used to fling Harry off him and rise to his feet, and then the strangest phenomenon happened: for an instant, Harry's already poor vision seemed to thicken and blur even more severely, and for a moment Draco seemed to pale so much that he appeared to lose substance such that Harry may have seen a glimpse of the wall behind, but then the moment went by, Draco's features looked thick with rage, and he was charging at Ron, who appeared quite prepared to get into a brawl with him.

Instead of curses and hexes, fists started flying between the purebloods. Hermione screamed at Ron, Dean sprung to his feet and went over to them, and Harry ducked under the hail of punches, trying to separate them, but catching more than a few punches from both parties himself, Harry finally spearheaded Ron and crashed with him to the floor, whereupon Draco, quite unsatisfied, swooped down and started to pummel the latter. Now positively panting with exhaustion, Harry tried to fight Draco off, but he was depleted of energy, and it was very fortunate that just before Ron's head could catch the other side of Draco's snakeskin heel, Draco was Petrified by Dean and rolled rigidly onto the floor.

"Dean, thanks," panted Harry, sitting on Ron – for he didn't want him to floor Draco in such a state, it would have been inhumane – and wiping his sweating forehead.

"RON!" shrieked Hermione, storming into view.

Ron was violently red in the face, his lips were still trembling with rage, and he didn't at all look cowed as he usually would have under Hermione's glare, and Hermione somewhat appeared to have sensed this loss of control.

"What the devil just happened?" asked Dean, a question Harry was asking himself.

It felt to have been a culmination. Ron and Draco simply couldn't exist without having gone against each other, and that had been proven today.

"Good question," said Harry.

"How can you attack a boy smaller than yourself!" yelled Hermione.

"He was coming at me, what was I supposed to do? Just stand there while he rearranges my face?"

"Oh!" growled Hermione loudly, throwing her arms up wildly. "There's simply too much testosterone in this house!"

"So what happens now?" asked Dean, wincing down at Draco's frozen form, possibly imagining, as Harry surely was, how Draco was going to react when the spell would be lifted.

Harry stood off Ron, who also rose to his feet, glaring down at Draco, face flushed.

"He's mad!" said Ron, his voice shaking with the adrenaline. "Since the moment we came in here. The smell, his snarky attitude, necromancy, attacking people unawares; get him on a leash, for fuck's sake."

This encouraged Harry immensely to do the following:

"_Finite Incantatem_," he said, and Draco unfroze and thrashed wildly and pointlessly on the floor, still under the impression that Ron was there to pummel (which Harry wished for at that moment), but then after some few seconds he realized that this wasn't the case, and he looked up at them, his cheeks a deep pink.

"Draco, just bloody calm down, all right?" said Harry.

Draco's chest rose and fell rapidly, killing Ron seven times over with his eyes, but he wasn't in any shape to start another bout of flying fists even if he wanted to, for he looked quite exhausted.

"We'll—we'll just have to find another way. Use every resource we can get. Start from scratch." Harry looked back Seamus, who looked back at him, his guilt plain on his face. "Seamus didn't mean for it," maintained Harry.

Draco stayed on the floor, panting, unmoving, his mouth open.

Harry looked back down at Draco, then at Hermione, and then back to Draco.

"But for now, we need to talk about your parents."

Fatigued though he clearly was, Draco's chest stopped heaving quite suddenly, and he gave Harry one of those stunned glares again.

"We have to bury your parents," said Harry softly. "You have to part with them forever. They're never coming back, Draco, you can't have them back."

"What—what do you know—who the hell are you to...?" But Draco couldn't speak properly, as his shock had mingled with his fatigue, and all he could do was pant breathlessly even more with that stunned glare shooting up at Harry.

"You told me you had them under storage here at Hogwarts," said Harry, "and that you had things to do involving them."

Draco didn't speak but continued to glare at Harry breathlessly.

"Just let them go."

Draco barked out a cruel-sounding laugh.

"So… you think you can… stand there and… on that high pedestal… since your own parents _died_… that you can tell me… Draco Lucius… Malfoy… whatIcanandcannotdo, do you?" he finished in a rush.

Harry didn't appreciate any of these words at all. "You can't have them anymore – they are gone! Deal with it!" Harry thrust his finger towards the wall roughly in the direction of the door beyond their room with the two diagonal lines.

Before Harry could raise his wand at him, Draco, after cackling loudly, charged, and Harry was flailing backwards onto the floor, landing with a crash. For a moment after he caught a touch of Draco's sharp knuckles to his temple – a surprisingly blazing pain – he contemplated thrashing Draco unreservedly as his rage swept upwards, and so it took a great deal of moral character and physical strength to manipulate himself out from under Draco, onto him, and hold on tightly without returning a single swipe.

"No! Leave me alone!" yelled Harry, when Ron and Dean were just about to involve themselves. "We're gonna get this right..."

"Get the fuck off, Potter! Fink you know evyerfing wif your sfufid..."

"Draco, just let it go, please."

"NO!" growled Draco, and his voice distorted, at which Harry began to see a ray of hope.

"Come on... just, Draco, please..."

"NO! He killed them...! Now we can't kill him...! And it's your fault...! It's Finnigan's...! It's everyone's fault...!"

"I know, I know, I know..."

"Geffefuckofee, Putter...!"

"Shhh..." And Harry applied the constriction of an anaconda, pressing weight upon him, smothering Draco's energy as he pursed his lips, looking aside almost with dispassion.

"Youffinkunowme, huh?" And the first gasp came. "Get off!"

It felt like an exorcism to Harry: he was trying to force the demon out, constricting him so much that the demon couldn't find an empty space inside his body and could only flee outward.

"Please, just listen to me," said Harry quietly, still applying all his weight upon a thrashing, cursing, growling Draco.

And the second gasp came. "Potter, just let go of me... I just wanna see him die... I just want them back..."

"You can't, Draco," said Harry quietly, the soothing notes in his voice now gone, leaving a hollow, harsh sound behind, while he forced even more pressure upon Draco with every breath that left his shell-pink lips.

And a third gasp. "Please... Please, Harry..."

"I know, I know..." repeated Harry tonelessly, his eyes slightly shiny.

A fourth. "I don't wanna fight him anymore... I don't... He killed them, that snake... he killed them..."

Then Draco let out this... siren of a howl – a high, hair-raising, singing sort of howl that went unbroken for several seconds and that which Harry knew almost certainly he wouldn't be able to banish from his mind in a long time. It was a hauntingly beautiful sound.

The others were looking down at them quietly, watching this.

And the tears started flowing, perhaps for the first time since his parents' death, the struggles became no more, and Harry watched as Draco Malfoy dissolved in mourning under him.

He lowered himself onto Draco and lay there quiescently, feeling from where the seamless, singing howl was carved.

The howl was broken, but there were no words, it seemed, to penetrate the anguish to speech, and the chest rumbled as the chasm broke within it, hollow and vast.

"I'm sorry, Draco...

"Hush, my dragon. Don't cry so much..."

Draco let out another long, singing wail, "Naaaaaaaaaooo...!"

"Morrow I promise, fun we'll have much...

"We'll trip to Fortescue's and buy your sundae,

"Then buy some broom frills and have us a day..."

"Aaaaahhhaaaa... Mother...!"

"Frolic in the gardens and laugh, we shall,

"You'll gift me a narcissi and I'll match you with a kiss...

"Everything will be all right, Draco."


	4. Heaven's Hymn

**Chapter 4**

**Heaven's Hymn**

Yet another beautiful irony: it was only days ago that he had lain atop Draco, wringing the consolation and comfort out from him. Harry allowed his ears to be pierced by that high, haunting, singing cry, and allowed himself to be clawed by those pale, beautiful fingers.

"I don't want it, I don't want to, I don't want no more…!"

A high, singing cry.

"I know, Draco, I know…"

"Maaaaaaaa…!"

"Shhhh..."

With his own hands, he wiped the tears and the snot from his eyes and nose, while Draco's chest fell and rose erratically against his own.

Harry's arms caught those which were making vague gestures towards the heavens, his lips kissed the mouth that uttered songs of grieve and tragedy, and his chest absorbed every shockwave that sent the chest under him collapsing with devastation.

"HarryyyaaahhaaaHarry..."

To think that the last time he had heard his name sung like this was when Draco had been teasing him that he loved him, but now in that very same lilting tenor it was sung with more sorrow than banter.

There was another soft rumble of thunder.

The others were standing around them, looking down, not knowing what to do. Harry could hear the soft sniffs he knew were coming from Hermione, and he imagined her face tracked by furrows of tears as it pressed into Ron's chest.

"Shhhh... Come on, let's go to the bedroom..."

Harry had to carry Draco there.

It was to be some hours later before he could even get Draco out of the room, and after hauling him to the door with the two silver stripes, Harry said, "Tell us how to open the door, Draco."

"I don't know," moaned Draco in a thin, sweeping voice. He looked faint, and perhaps slightly nauseous; Harry was holding him tightly next to him while the rest of the party hung around the door.

It had grown duller outside, and the sky was shaking and growling regularly through the dark-grey clouds.

Hermione went forward and resumed the battle she had started and lost yesterday: she put her foot up on the door and began wrenching the doorknob.

"You're lying," said Harry, the coarseness of whose accusation prompted heads to turn his way and Hermione to suspend her war with the doorknob.

"I don't know!"

"You put them in there so why can't you get them out?"

"Harry, please...!"

"Open the door!"

"Harry, don't be so-" began Hermione, pouting sympathetically as she looked on at him and Draco, who staggered in his arms.

"Someone has to get through to him," said Harry ruthlessly, and he shook Draco hard, whose limbs and head lolled as though he were a marionette, submitted to Harry's discretion.

"Harry, can you just—be gentle, won't you!" screeched Hermione under her breath in alarm, as though she were afraid Draco's extremities would pop right off his body and scatter to the floor.

"Draco!" shouted Harry.

Draco shook his head. He seemed to want to fall to the floor but then he opened his mouth and sick splattered onto the floor, whereupon Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Hermione jumped backwards with faces of polite repulsion.

Harry swore under his breath as he laid Draco gently on the floor and looked down at the mess, momentarily appearing at a loss as to what to do next.

"_Tergeo_," said Hermione softly, and it briefly took Harry back to the fifth floor of Hogwarts in a room wherein Fauss had spoken the words and siphoned off his blood as Hermione did Draco's vomit as though Harry's 'impure' blood was as repulsive as it was.

Draco looked very pale, and Harry looked back helplessly into his face for a moment, not knowing what to do.

"Draco, please, we need to get your parents out of there so we can give them a proper burial. Don't you think they deserve that?"

Draco responded by spitting out a yellow, bubbly blob of saliva and vomit.

"_Tergeo_," said Hermione again swiftly, as though she didn't want her voice to disrupt their interaction.

Draco didn't answer but kept his eyes shut as he took deep breaths.

Harry looked at him. His throat was getting dryer by the second as he stared at Draco, at the pallor of his skin, at the yellow drool hanging from his shell-pink lips, at the chest rising and falling deeply. His eyes prickled. He would rather have Draco rant and rave and try to hex and beat him up than have him look like this.

"Draco."

Draco's shutters opened but his eyes were rolled skywards, and for a moment Harry thought he was suspended in some delirium.

"Draco." Harry took him by the shoulders and shook him more softly.

Draco's lips started moving wordlessly.

Harry was growing decidedly alarmed now. His eyes flew to Hermione, who stood there with her bushy hair, looking down at them, seemingly clueless and definitely wide-eyed.

Draco was hissing.

"Sessesetanonnosesefasesemaso..."

Harry's heart thundered.

"SsseMassa... Fafa... Mada... Fada... Mother... Father..."

"Draco," said Harry sharply, shaking him again despite fearing that his eyes would simply fall out his head.

The hands came up and grabbed him weakly, and slowly, the face turned towards him, the eyes struggled to drop from the ceiling to focus on him, but finally they did, and they were a bloodshot storm of grey.

"Harr..." slurred Draco.

Harry nodded, sniffing and inching closer to him. He wiped the vomit on Draco's mouth with his sleeve.

"Kill me."

Silence crashed upon them as though the ceiling had fallen in.

It took Harry's brain a full minute to start grinding back to work again.

"I—I can't kill you..." whispered Harry, in a questioning sort of way, his eyes flying about Draco's face. His heart felt constricted by his chest. What he would have given not to have started all of this. If only Hermione hadn't raised the issue, he wouldn't have to see this, see his love crumbling before him.

"Please," said Draco, as he burst into tears and started shaking with the force of his cries. "I don't wanna live no more..."

"Fuckin' hell, Draco! Get a fuckin' grip!" shouted Harry coarsely, slapping away his own tears and shaking Draco some more; he didn't know what else to do. "Just open the fuckin' door so we can let your parents out!"

Draco crashed himself completely to the floor, where he started to cry again in that singing howl that sent shivers down Harry's spine and caused his hairs to rise. Disturbingly beautiful.

Harry's shoulders sagged, and he gave into his defeat; he dropped onto the floor too and gazed hopelessly at it.

Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Hermione all lowered themselves to the floor and joined Harry in crying for Draco.

There was a loud cackle of thunder and then a wall-shaking rumble.

Hermione crossed the passage – strangely avoiding the area where Draco's vomit had so recently been splattered even though it wasn't there anymore – crawled next to Harry, hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, and then covered him with her arms, and after some seconds passed, Harry held onto her for dear life, crying as though his own parents had been slain and lay lifelessly a door away from him.

His mouth twisting in what appeared to be shame, Ron came over as well and put his arms around them, bowing his head on top of theirs.

Looking unoccupied, given the scene, and clearly uncomfortable by it, Dean and Seamus hovered in their midst aimlessly, their heads cast downwards at the floor, but then after a moment, Seamus sidled over to Draco's side and began to hesitantly brush his hair back, politely minding the pool of saliva on which Draco was crying.

And the scene remained as such until a particular loud clap rang across the house and seemed to shake the very floor. At that point, Draco was moaning dryly and softly, still lying on the floor under Seamus' fair hand brushing his hair back needlessly, the admirer comforting the admired.

Hermione reared her head, wiped her shining face completely before hauling herself up, bringing her foot up to the floor, and resuming the battle with the doorknob, augmenting the assault with a few choice spells, which were unsuccessful in unlocking the door.

Harry remained huddled in Ron's arms, while Dean was busying himself by drawing invisible patterns on the floor before he seemed to decide that helping Hermione was more productive, for he too stood up, produced his wand and foot, and started hexing and wrenching the doorknob on top of Hermione's hands, which looked white and quite stiff and seemed to be undergoing _rigor mortis_.

"Draco."

Dean and Hermione immediately desisted. Harry wiped his face and sniffed as he disentangled himself from Ron, at whom he didn't look, embarrassed. Harry let his hot, stale breath out, sighing and breathing in fresh air through his mucous-filled nostrils. He rubbed his eyes again.

"Draco. Please open the door... please."

A clap of thunder.

Draco merely sniffed and remained on the floor, unmoving.

"I'm sorry," said Seamus softly, in the sudden silence as he petted Draco. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have touched it."

"You couldn't have known, Seamus," said Hermione.

"Bus still, it don't make no difference, does it, Hermione?" He peered up at her, and Hermione held his eyes quietly, unable to argue, it seemed. "The letter is still gone, the blueprint of our hunt is gone, isn't it? And it's my fault."

Draco rose from the floor.

"Not your fault," he said, in the softest of voices that his words may have been of anyone's imagination in that passage. Draco stared at Seamus directly in the eye, but Seamus was failing to do likewise. "Couldn't have known." Draco rearranged himself before he took out his wand, pointed it at his opened mouth, and muttered, "_Scourgify Minora_." There was a noise rather like that of a suction tube a dentist would use to dry one's mouth before he operated, though it was anyone's guess that Hermione, whose parents were dentists, appreciated it. Draco clucked his tongue, which he then swiped around his mouth before he swallowed.

There sizzled a quiet tension, which everyone appeared to feel, for some moments just before Harry spoke up again.

"Draco."

Draco gave a funny twitch of his head before he turned it slowly and seemingly reluctantly towards Harry, who then implored, "Please let's get the door open."

For a few silent moments, Draco stared at Harry, stared at his blind and green bloodshot eyes so recently flooded with tears, stared at the defeated and huddled posture, stared at one of the few people left who loved him to their roots. Draco lunged blindly and they embraced each other.

It was the first time he felt him that whole day, and it felt so good to feel Draco again, the familiar lines and bumps of his body, clicking so perfectly with his own.

After a few seconds they parted and Draco stood up. He gave the doors one touch of his finger and they swept open gracefully, the halves of the two diagonal lines parting.

Rather incredulous, Harry remained sitting on the floor, staring at the sweeping doors, but then his mind caught up and he came to his feet, looking around at the others. They all made to follow Draco inside, but Draco said one name, "Harry," and the others understood themselves disallowed from entering. Harry squeezed Hermione's hand before slowly stepping into the room.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the light from the passage and from a far side on his left some blue rippling lights rather like those which pooled around Dumbledore's cabinet where he kept his Pensieve. The dancing lights bewildered and mesmerized him for a spell until he had to shake it off and follow Draco to one side of the room where, it became apparent, was a single bed. Harry slipped out his wand and was about to light it before Draco barked out, "No!" There was a tremor in his voice.

"They are here, on the bed."

The room seemed to morph right after these words. It felt alive despite that it housed the dead. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck and on his arms rose steadily, sending a chilling spasm down his body. It was quite unlike Cedric's body lying there next to him before he was dragged off the ground and tied up to a tombstone. Here, there was no enemy to occupy him, no danger to threaten him – it was just him, Draco, the darkness, and two dead bodies. His senses heightened. Harry felt he would jump with the slightest brush of whatever.

Draco didn't move.

Harry didn't move.

And there were two bodies on the bed that couldn't be seen, and perhaps that was exactly for what Draco was wishing.

Harry swallowed.

"Levitation Charm?"

Draco nodded.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_."

"_Wingardium Leviosa_."

There fell a blood-curling weight on Harry's wand, and there was a creek that frightened him to bits and which he couldn't tell where it had come from, though he suspected the bed. There didn't seem to be any sense of sound in the room, nor could Harry apply any comforting measure of appropriation to it – it felt alive yet unresponsive, but decidedly spooky, perhaps so only by the mere virtue that they were levitating corpses.

His arm trembling with nerves and discomfort, he and Draco, who still had his eyes shut, directed Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy slowly towards the exit, Draco levitating his mother and Harry his father. The others, who had been peering into the room from the sides of the doorframe, immediately sprung out of sight and left it clear, while they continued to direct the corpses out of the room, into the passage, whereupon Draco announced quietly, "In the garden," and so they headed to the double doors which guarded that awesome splendour.

They spilled out of the house and under the gloomy late afternoon sky, heading towards the pond without enjoying the slightest admiration for the surroundings. Despite that he had trained himself not to look at the garden, Harry couldn't help himself, however, and stared at the many animals and the plants and trees. It could have been so beautiful...

Minutes later they were standing in front of the pond, between which and the grass floated Draco's parents by his, Harry's, Ron's, and Dean's Levitation Charms. Draco had opened his eyes, and he looked ready to break down again at any moment, but Harry hoped that he could give him his strength through their bonded hands. For some minutes, Draco merely stood there, his silver-blond hair stirring softly in the light breeze that ruffled Harry's own hair and intermittently exposed his lightning-bolt scar. Harry couldn't tell whether Draco was staring at the two springs of water looping out magically from the depths of the pond or right into the distance at the boundary of the garden Harry couldn't see and thought no one else could either.

Draco then declared, "We lay them here, upon the Pond of Prosperity. Mother told me wonderful tales about it."

After a moment, Hermione asked uncertainly, "How—how are we supposed—do you have—shovels...?

"Lower them into the water."

These words were greeted with silence.

Harry imagined the Malfoys drowning, but then reminded himself that they couldn't, since they weren't alive.

"But, Draco, how we supposed to-" began Harry.

"Once upon a time there was a prince by the name of Patrick Zerold. He was a handsome prince, the most handsome young man anyone could have known. But there was something funny about him: he seemed to cherish an uncomfortable desire for a nondescript farm girl who could be seen regularly at the local markets in atrocious dishcloths for dresses.

"But the prince seemed not to have given this one bit of thought, for with a fantastic conviction he pursued her until they finally married more than a decade later. But the prince had made a grave oversight: so besotted was he with ordinary Mayena that he hadn't paid the slightest mind to her fat, cross-eyed sister...

"As unattractive as her sister was beautiful from her head to her toes, Gomiga, as they called her, plotted to marry the prince herself rather than have her only surviving family whisked off to some faraway castle where she selfishly feared she would never see her again. The potion was brewed, and the curse was cast.

"They landed up in an ancient villa teetering on the edge of a mountain range in Scotland, overlooking the sea. It was in there that Gomiga subjected the prince to all forms of torture conceivable.

"But finally, she grew tired of abusing him and keeping her sister under her Imperius Curse; she allowed them houseroom, to wander about it aimlessly, hand in hand by eye, hand in hand by madness.

"Resolving to rid them of the prince once and for all, the fat sister wiped out the prince in a flash of green, and she travelled many miles to a dilapidated shack that seemed to have been abandoned long ago but into which she ducked with confidence, and in there she met an ancient woman with a withered face and a hooked nose and who was rumoured to be a witchdoctor."

"The supposed witchdoctor warned her that a plethora of ills would meet her if she so much as stepped outside the broken hut, for she had committed a most terrible sin, to kill, said it was even a miracle she had made it there.

"The witchdoctor said a necropolis would not do, and so ordered her to perform a ritual: stay seven days underwater, walk around the house three times three times a day as she sprinkled water around it with a broom, and bury two bottles filled with water in the garden. Then she would have nothing to fear, fate was not due to her."

"And so the fat sister did exactly as she was told, and finally with Mayena still under her spell of madness, the two sisters buried the prince who had once disturbed their lives as instructed by the witchdoctor in a pond behind their mountainside house, and the sisters were together once more. It was never known if Gomiga lived a full life."

"You never told me that part," said Harry, after a moment.

"Didn't want to spoil the mood," replied Draco.

There passed a few moments of silence.

"So we bury them in the actual pond itself?" asked Hermione, and Harry suspected the unrealistic physics of it were running through her head.

"Yes," said Draco shortly. "Lower them in."

And so beside a bewildered Hermione, Dean, Harry, Ron, and Draco levitated the two corpses over the boulders, on top of the pond, and slowly lowered them. As soon as the hem of their robes pierced the surface of the water, there grew a tear in the pond, like a watery schism, pulling the flowing mass aside, revealing what Harry couldn't see, which he preferred.

A flash of lightning above them, and a rumble of thunder, and the wind picked up.

But the rushing of the water in front of them sounded to drone out even the lightning as the water continued to tear apart, opening the split until it was wide enough to be the size of a cabinet.

It was the stuff of fairytales.

"Lower them."

And so they did, and after the pale point of Lucius' nose was swallowed up, the water roared as it gushed into the invagination and filled up from the bottom up until Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy could be seen no more.

"I love you, Father. Love you, Mother," whispered Draco softly, and Harry hugged him deeply.

* * *

It was well into the evening. Ron, Dean, and Seamus were playing some game on a piece of parchment using their quills. They had written one hundred numbers on the parchment which they had to spot and encircle consecutively, and the one who circled the most won. Hermione was frantically rereading all the books she had canvassed from the Hogwarts library, the pages flipping back and forth frantically, the many tomes splattered open on the table, and she was even perusing the blue one which had repulsed her with its sinister magic. Sometime after returning to the house, Draco had gone around the house muttering some charms under his breath which they found out soon after that they were to remove the pleasant smell of vanilla essence that had for Harry been part of the house itself. He and Draco were now lounging on the longest couch, Harry studying Draco's hands, weaving through his hair – which was ruffled and looked nothing like Lucius' – and asking him questions that were sometimes left unanswered.

"What was your childhood like?"

Perhaps it was Harry's imagination, but the room suddenly seemed to fall just a touch quiet.

It was a question he had scarcely expected, and that wasn't because it was he who had been doing the asking and Draco the answering – sometimes – but rather that it was a question he thought he would never have to answer in his life; Ron and Hermione had never, in politeness, expressed a curiosity about his childhood beyond what he told them about the Dursleys, and consequently, he found himself at a loss for words.

"What's that?" he asked, knowing perfectly well he had heard right.

"What was your childhood like?" Draco repeated.

Harry didn't answer for several moments, a thousand images streaming through his mind, the chief one of which was the cupboard under the stairs; his heart paced. He wanted to ask, 'Why do you want to know?' to stall for time, but it would sound stupid.

As the seconds stretched, Draco looked up from his lap into Harry's unseeing green eyes and patiently waited for an answer.

It was funny that he found himself in such a position, where Draco was waiting for him to spin this wonderful tale of a young prince in a huge mansion with servants at his beck and call, because it was likely inconceivable that the Boy Who Lived had been subjected to verbal and sometimes physical abuse and sentenced to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs in which he could barely stretch, despite his already meagre form.

_I don't wanna talk about it._

But he couldn't see himself denying those beautiful grey eyes looking up dolefully and curiously at him; how could he?

"It's rather uninteresting, really; I wouldn't want to bore you, if you don't mind." But these words fell flat even before he could finish them as he stared into Draco's eyes. He felt he could spew his deepest secrets to him at that moment. Why could Draco do this to him?

"My relatives told me my parents died in a car crash."

And the surprise instantly washed away all sadness from his face, and Harry was rather glad of it; it was a pleasant surprise.

"In a car crash?"

Harry nodded. "Lied to my face for a whole decade, they did, until I found out from Hagrid that Voldemort—I'm sorry." This time there wasn't a rage that swept through him, but sincere regret as Draco shivered under him.

Draco shook out of it and stared up through his long, white eyelashes at Harry again, and so Harry started to tell him about his own childhood after he had been wonderfully entertained by Draco's admittedly more colourful one, and despite this fact, Harry was surprised to find Draco so curious about him, given that there were no tales of house-elves making him fly through the air, or trips to his mother's friends to show him off, or wonderful magical games such as Exploding Snap or Snitch. However, he could boast a few harmless naughty wheezes and moments of mischief, but what drew the loudest laugh from Draco and surprisingly the whole room, which had been listening in secretively, was when he had made Ripper bite Aunt Marge's arse, whereupon her cry had shaken the whole of Privet Drive and had the rumour going that the Dursleys were housing another secret child with Down Syndrome, a rumour which Harry had immensely enjoyed, for it had given the Dursleys horrible nightmares for weeks, and so distracted they were in that whole mess that they hadn't given Harry the earful or fistful for a time.

This was what started one of those reminiscent nights whereby all share their funny childhood stories. Tibby appeared at precisely seven o'clock to still find them in heaps of laughter. The most entertaining childhood, however, was Ron's, much to Seamus' annoyance, who had taken it for granted that he was the funniest person in that room; Harry almost felt sorry had he wanted to hex him with a Joker Jammer Jinx or any of those other three 'de-humouring' spells, but it couldn't have been unexpected, given who featured much in Ron's anecdotes.

"Fred and George learnt there and then never to walk into a witch's room without permission again. I think they still have the scars on their arses today..." This was met with raucous laughter, but then Ron's beaming face sagged like a pear. "You know," he said, licking soup from his wrist to his elbow, "Ginny must be getting awfully worried about not seeing us anywhere at Hogwarts anymore. She might even have spilled what we did to mum and dad – run away to a honeymoon getaway like Seamus said."

"Goodness, I haven't even thought of that!" breathed Hermione in sudden alarm. The mood changed drastically. "She must be worried sick! And your mother!"

Ron paled and gulped thickly. His flaming red hair seemed to dull and wither right then.

"What if she told Mr Weasley and now he's searching you with the Ministry's resources?" said Hermione, looking at Ron with wide eyes.

"What Ministry?" said Harry. "It's Voldemort's now. Making Kingsley Minister was a joke – a deadly joke. And I don't think Mr Weasley would be using any of the Ministry's resources; he probably knows not to trust it anymore."

"What the bloody hell happened to the good times...?" muttered Seamus irritably under his breath, mourning their nice little joke session.

"You could send her a Once-Off Owl," suggested Draco quietly.

"A what?" said Ron.

"You could send an owl just to reassure her, from ʼOseidon's Owl Outlet."

"Or we could go back to Hogwarts," said Hermione, staring at Harry intently.

"We can't go back to Hogwarts!" said Harry, with some frustration. "He would know! We would be in more danger than before!"

Hermione's eyes found Draco, whom she may suspect was who Harry was thinking particularly of.

"At least there's chardonnay tomorrow," said Seamus feebly. "We can finally toss back a few, eh?"

"Don't you want to see Dumbledore's funeral?" asked Hermione, who, like the rest, had paid Seamus no mind.

After all the drama they had gone through, he found himself ashamed to have... forgotten... His throat went dry with shame.

"Of course I do," Harry croaked, looking anywhere but at her. He quickly busied himself by taking one of her books from the table and reading it, which was decidedly ridiculous, as they all knew he couldn't read because of his abysmal vision without his glasses.

Tibby reappeared and cleaned up before she disappeared again, disturbing not a single soul.

Draco took him by the hand suddenly and led him to the master bedroom, which Harry was glad to do at that moment.

They entered the dark room as another rumble of thunder shook the house.

Draco produced his wand and waved it while uttering an incantation, at which point the room lit up and glared back at them as coldly as ever. Draco directed them onto the bed, where they lay. He took out that brown, diary-like book from which he had read yesterday and gave it to Harry, who took it with bemusement, not knowing the first thing to do with it. Did Draco expect him to read it even though he knew he would struggle heavily?

"Er..."

"Pick out a page."

"Oh," said Harry, and he did as ordered, flipping through the pages until he landed onto a random one dated 30th September and which seemed to be written incompletely, leaving the page largely blank, and the adjacent one completely so. Feeling unlucky, a familiar feeling, he tried to turn to another page, but Draco stopped him and took back the diary, while Harry still looked more than a little puzzled by the proceedings.

Draco exhaled in an official sort of way.

"Thirtieth September... the day they died... 'Untolds Unfolded,'" he said, with the corners of lips stretched in a paper smile as he stared at Harry, who now understood what was going on: Draco was going to read his father's legacy.

There came a flash of lightning that illuminated the room instantaneously through the window, and at that moment the blank page besides the half-written and seemingly interrupted one glittered with a bluish light.

Harry inched closer to Draco, frowning.

"Did you see that?"

"I did," said Draco, frowning, and he touched the surface of the page, at which point, like one of Dumbledore's letters, words immediately appeared at his touch:

* * *

_24__th__ September_

_**Heaven's Song**_

_I did not wish for Lucius to see this. You will forgive my crude methods of concealment, but I figured you would read this someday; Lucius wasn't writing it to pass his time, which lately seems to be running out._

_We had seen each other barely a handful of times. The first time I saw him was of course at Hogwarts. He was the most dashing boy in his year – in fact, in the whole school, any witch could have told you that, even that saint Lily Evans. He was fair – well, quite pale to be honest – tall, slender, and simply handsome, though I hated his hair – it was more gorgeous than mine, I felt._

_The first time we spoke even remotely to each other was at the Yule Ball just before the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, which of course was not held again for another generation – your generation. Our eyes met over the other students, and I would have loved to say he finally dredged up the courage to approach me, but the truth is he was both intriguing and irksomely overconfident. He glided over to me with that soft smirk on his lips and that pale, silver stare. But I was only to find out that he had been ordered to make those actions, to approach me that night by his father Abraxas Malfoy, and the reason was revealed a mere decade later; we were married at twenty-four years of age, and had you two years later._

_So I could never say he was the man of my dreams even though he was in every way a man of which any girl could dream. I could never say I was madly in love with him. I can never say he is the love of my life with absolute certainly._

_But I saw something different about your situation, my dragon – Harry Potter._

_I asked myself, how could a mere fifteen-year-old, about whom you have ranted and raved and complained and insulted ever since you set foot on Hogwarts, risk his own life – a life cherished by the entire Wizarding community – to save you from the clutches of our Lord?_

_You should have seen him when woke up after being possessed by the Dark Lord, how furious he was at Lucius for not doing everything he could to save you, which he was, mind; you should have seen him how he had looked at you in Dumbledore's office after the fight with the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters at home... _

_As skilled as Dumbledore is in Occlumency, I couldn't penetrate that praised mind of his to get to the truth that Wednesday. I don't know why I tried in the first place, to be honest. However, there was something about his face that changed when he mentioned you and Potter in the same sentence: a certain joy and happiness, or perhaps I had drunk too much wine that day, that I imagined that he seemed to radiate with it. Maybe he is just naturally jovial by nature; I seem to remember he was rather unusually upbeat for such an old man, even in my own school days, but it also may just be that Albus Dumbledore was extremely happy for two boys who seemed to have found love for each other; who knows, something similar may have tried to happen to him in his tall past, and he just couldn't, for once in his life, contain himself..._

_I will not lie – it shook me, it shattered my dreams for you. I had no idea what I was going to tell the Greengrasses, and if it could do so to mere dreams, it would positively devastate Lucius, of course – he wouldn't survive it, hence I never told him of my suspicions, which were confirmed by Dumbledore, whom I had been in contact with for a spell as mentioned above – that is how we knew you were relocated to another part of the castle for your safety._

_And yet, I did not wish for to you to be found a person for as I had been – I wanted you to be with someone you wanted to be with, someone you loved with all your heart, and yes, I have my suspicions; you know you cannot hide yourself from my eyes, dragon, you never could._

_It was a day I cannot easily forget – 28__th__ March 1981. Leaving the party behind in the manor to run around in the vast garden behind it, under the bare, darkened sky, giddy and delirious with Firewhisky running through our veins, we made passionate love (you must be cringing at this point) for the first time, and the heavens seemed to egg us on – there were flashes of lightning, loud and cackling as we rode ourselves to ecstasy, and then at one point there came a loud crack of thunder, the loudest I had ever heard, and I actually saw it – it was a second's flash of red across the sky over Lucius' shoulder, and then the sky went quiet as we climaxed. We could see many of the Black and Malfoy guests from inside the manor peering through the windows, wondering how such a powerful lightning strike could be, and then after that eerie silence, there came an even eerier phenomenon: it was as though ghosts were chorusing. I cannot explain it. Something ran through my body; I could barely feel Lucius panting on top of me, but then the thing, the moment faded, and it was gone. Lucius swept downwards and kissed me. That night we conceived you._

_I wish for something as special to happen for you in your lifetime, and I hope it will be with the person you love, and that person just may be the very person you had been so curious about before you had even seen Hogwarts beyond the pictures in your books, the person you had grown to detest with your spirit year after year you came back home from Hogwarts, and the person who had cared enough for you to save you from the Dark Lord's clutches despite a famous rivalry you shared with him. _

_And I have a funny feeling you have Dumbledore's blessing._

* * *

"She knew...?" said Draco in a stating and questioning sort of way, but Harry was just as astounded as he was.

"She knew..." said Harry in a similarly hollow voice.

"She knew..." repeated Draco, though this time the stating tone edged out the questioning one slightly.

"She knew," said Harry decisively.

Draco stared almost vacantly at the diary in front of him.

"And she wasn't livid about it."

"And said we had Dumbledore's blessing. It's just like I told you – Dumbledore was happy for us; he did it all for us." Harry then felt a surge of guilt for forgetting Dumbledore's funeral.

Draco took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

There came another flash of lightning in the silence.

"So do you think it's true?"

"What?" asked Harry, a little distracted.

"The lightning thing?" asked Draco, at the same time staring out the window into the thunderous night.

Harry turned there as well.

"But why would she lie?" said Harry.

"Seems simply fantastical, not to mention convenient, while they were shagging on the ground."

Harry snorted out a laugh, but then quickly corrected himself. "Sorry."

Draco gave Harry something between a grin and a smile.

"Well, either way, there's only one way to find out."

"Think we'll be so lucky to get a very loud thundercrack?"

"Malfoys are always lucky, Harry," said Draco pompously, as he took Harry by the hand and wobbled off the bed before running to the door and sneaking them out of the house to stand outside into the dry thunderstorm; flashes illuminated the sky, and growls of lightning shook it.

"It's only one in a million chances!" said Harry, who, despite such odds, was grinning.

"That's all it takes, babes!" yelled Draco back, grinning up at the sky, and without warning Harry, he took off with his hand towards the cliff face, Harry following him, and seconds later they gambolled to a stop a few uncomfortable metres from the cliff, watching the tumultuous, grey horizon, but what took much of Harry's attention was the boy next to him, grinning with his hair whipping about his face.

Draco turned to him and stared.

"We could be struck, you know, we're in an open field, and we're high up," Harry said, as an excuse for looking at Draco.

Draco responded by taking his arm and putting back on the silver watch around his wrist. Then he placed a long kiss on his lips, which Harry returned in kind.

A rumble of thunder steadily quietening, a lesser clap, a moment of silence, and then the loudest crack of thunder; Harry and Draco broke the kiss and ducked for cover, falling to the ground and baring their teeth in fright. Harry's eyes flew open, and it may have been his imagination but their surroundings seemed to burn a faint red, but next second it was gone, perhaps an instant of insanity, and his vision was still quite bad.

"Did you see that?" he screeched, still with his hands on his head.

"Shit!" growled Draco, his eyes wide, his hands pressed to his ears, looking up at the sky.

"We nearly bloody died!" said Harry.

"Let's go back!"

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He jumped to his feet and streaked for the house, Draco running alongside him.

It seemed as though the closer they came to the house, the quieter it became, until Harry found himself faltering and looking around up at the sky, running vaguely towards the house still.

"Stop," said Draco, and they did so.

There was silence.

And then something came – a sound... It was chilling... eerie... floating... something Harry had never experienced, and he couldn't have explained it any better than Narcissa Malfoy had; it was as though ghosts were singing, or the heavens were hymning in their ears. It was a ringing tune, like the vibrating prongs of a fork. It ran through Harry's body, undulating every vessel and nerve, making his skin feel as though it were shaking off, made it to tingle; he _felt_ the sound – it was tangible, and it sounded beautiful, felt beautiful. He looked aside at Draco, meeting a wonder probably mirrored on his own face. They gaped at each other in amazement. The song faded and finally fell, leaving the air still and quiet.

"It didn't feel fantastical," remarked Harry, before there was a wild rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the entire villa, trees and vineyard and all; Harry and Draco ran back into the villa, laughing all the way.

Even though there was a routine to them, the days to pass were fraught with anxiety and quiet frustration. Despite being forgiven, Seamus acted very cautiously and overfriendly until Draco, who was handling things well, had to kiss him to show him that all really was forgiven, and from then on Seamus was so occupied with blushing every time he was in the same room with Draco there was no room to feel guilty.

Hermione was scouring the Malfoy library and rereading each of the books she had brought along for any clues of Horcruxes, but she eventually came to a conclusion that they would have to return to Hogwarts and somehow trick McGonagall into leaving them in Dumbledore's office so she could search for these mysterious books he had removed from the library which Hermione hadn't therefore found; Ron was growing more and more anxious about Ginny and her telling their parents that they had fled from Hogwarts; And Harry would never forget again and would not miss Dumbledore's funeral for the world. Since their worries had a common destination, they decided they would return to Hogwarts on the twelfth of October. They prepared for the trip the night before.

"Okay, so what would we be needing?" asked Hermione, as she prepared to count on her fingers.

"How are we gonna get there in the first place?" asked Seamus, whose head was lounging in Dean's lap.

Hermione shot them a reproachful look, for they weren't in any shape to pack, but then she frowned.

"That's a good question," she said, as she looked down at Draco, whose own head was cradled in Harry's lap. Ron was the only boyfriend not stroking his partner's hair on the other couch, for Hermione was standing quite upright on her feet, intent on preparing properly for the trip to Hogwarts the following day.

"The same Portkey I used to go back to Hogwarts," said Draco, tracing Harry's palm lines with a finger. "I'll set it for, say, nine o' clock."

"Eight," said Hermione.

Draco raised his eyebrow. "Fine," he said, shrugging.

Hermione nodded. "All right. We've got the books to return – useless as they were... What are we going to be wearing?" breathed Hermione in alarm. She whipped out of sight and the next thing they could hear was a lot of Scourgifying Charms being meted out until there was steam wafting through the house. She reappeared into the sitting room, her hair the frizziest it has ever been. "Anyone wants their clothes Scourgified? It's the best we can do."

All less Draco raised their hands; Hermione rolled her eyes, but then she looked serious.

"Don't you miss Hedwig? I know I miss Crookshanks. Poor baby... And Pigwidgeon."

After Ron's nostrils flared angrily when he was undoubtedly thinking of the ginger-furred feline, he snorted at the name of Pigwidgeon.

Harry indeed did miss Hedwig, very much. He wondered where she was with Dragonfly. What if they had a youngling? Harry shook his head before he could imagine what owl sex was like.

"I want to go sweep some clouds," said Draco, as he sat up from Harry.

"You're gonna what?" asked Seamus.

Draco sighed. "Merlin, aren't you the eighth sage," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

This left puzzled expressions on just about all of the occupants of that room except Ron, who snorted at Seamus.

"And what was that about?" Harry heard Hermione ask, as he followed Draco to the master bedroom.

"There were only ever seven wise sages," said Ron's trailing voice. "Basically he was saying Seamus was being a retard or wiser-than-thou. Three guesses which one."

They slipped into the covers in their nightwear, Draco reminding Harry again of needing to get better sleepwear. They cuddled under the covers for a while, that is until Draco shifted onto his side and tried to tuck himself into Harry, his arse touching Harry's groin, whereupon Harry again jerked away as though he had received an electrical shock. He was embarrassed and confused about his reaction all over again. Draco turned around and frowned at him.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Harry quickly, blushing pink.

Draco looked at him for a very long time.

"That's the second time you did that."

"And I'm sorry," said Harry, running a hand on his face.

There was another long silence.

"Do I disgust you or something?"

"That's barmy, you don't... disgust me. I love you."

"It's him again, fucking our lives up yet again even from this far. You can't even touch my arse."

"What? It's got nothing to do with him—nothing to do with your-"

"Yes, it does. He raped me so you can't you get can anywhere near my arse. Admit it, I disgust you."

"You don't bloody disgust me, Draco! I—I just don't know."

But the words rang true in his deepest core. He felt that Voldemort owned some part of Draco after he had had sex with him whether forced or not, not least his arse. He felt he couldn't fully have Draco unless something gave, unless he was somehow washed clean, purified – how, Harry didn't know...

"I'm gonna kill him – I'll make sure of it if it's the last thing I do," vowed Draco.

Harry stared at Draco helplessly.

"_We_ will kill him."

Draco didn't respond but just looked at him despondently.

That night as Harry drifted off to sleep, he wasn't bade farewell by the soft aroma of vanilla essence, nor by the ghost touch of Draco's fingers on his face.


	5. Hogwarts

**Chapter 5**

**Hogwarts**

"It's time to wake up, my dragon. It's time to wake up, my dragon..."

Draco stirred.

"...It's time to wake up, my dragon. It's time to wake up, my dragon."

Draco twisted around as he stretched and yawned, limbs cracking and extending towards the ceiling, jaw clicking and stretching open. Together with the mane of white-blond hair, he looked like a white lion roaring.

Draco sighed and turned around in the covers, now staring at the open-mouthed face of Harry's. And then a pale hand extended towards the face, hovered inches from it, and then was retracted. Draco sunk into the pillow with another despondent-seeming sigh as he studied the sleeping face in front of him. Draco then lifted himself off the bed, slithered off, and trudged into the bathroom, from where he didn't emerge until thirty minutes later with an emerald-cream towel wrapped around his waist and one in his hair, his marble abs glistening like a melting slab of milk chocolate, but so were his prominent ribs.

He proceeded to the antique dressing-table with lazy yet graceful strides, his muscles seemingly loosened by the hot water, and plunked into the chair, raising his feet onto the suede emerald footstool, whereupon he dried his hair, threw aside the towel, and then tilted his head to the side in vain adoration of his reflection.

"Didn't realize you loved yourself so much."

Draco looked back at a rousing Harry stretching. He turned back to the mirror.

"Mother used to spend an inordinate amount of time sitting here, making herself up, staring at herself, thinking."

"You know, there's a man I know who did just that, and his name sounds much like your mother's."

"Excuse me, but are you comparing my mother to a man?"

"No, just their names, Draco." Harry clucked his tongue. "Narcissus."

"What kind of name for a man is that?"

"Yeah, well, who said the Greeks were right in their head. They did invent gayness, after all."

"What are you rapping on about, Potter?"

But Harry waved a hand languidly, not wishing to delve into sixth-grade Greek mythology with Draco right now – he would rather enjoy his yawn – yawning really was an enjoyable activity, as was stretching. It felt like an orgasm at times, he really thought, or as close to it as it could get.

"You're disrupting me, Potter," said Draco in a clipped voice, and he turned back to mirror, but perhaps not in the mood anymore, seconds later he rose to his feet and strode over to the armoire and got dressed, while Harry, after finding he was still sleepy after stretching, crashed himself back into the covers and threw them over his head; Draco clucked his tongue in irritation at this as he went over and opened the drawer of the dressing table, picked out from it an elegant quill seemingly randomly, sat down, and performed some spells on it. Thereafter, he swept out of the room, leaving Harry in the room.

About two hours later...

"OH! RON! WAKE UP, RON!"

There were noises of groaning.

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

"Granger, hold off, would you?"

"Dean! Seamus! UP YOU GET!"

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

"I swear I'm so glad I'm going to see another female again!"

"More attractive ones at that still."

"Excuse me?"

"I was reading this here."

There was a spell of silence.

"RON! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WENT BACK TO SLEEP! _WAKE UP_! WE'RE RUNNING LATE EVEN AFTER I MADE SURE TO WAKE UP SO EARLY! TLARGH!"

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

"Weasley! Save everyone from insanity and get the fuck up! Her screaming is disturbing my brainwaves!"

"All right, all right, I heard you, bloody hell!"

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

There was a noise of shock from Hermione. "They're... they're... SEAMUS, DEAN, THIS IS HARDLY THE TIME TO BE DOING THAT SORT OF THING – COME OUT, WHY DON'T YOU ALREADY! Can't _believe_ this...!"

"Wait, they were...?"

"Hem hem."

"Right."

There were footsteps approaching closer and closer to the master bedroom; Harry leapt out of bed and made as much noise as possible to indicate that he had woken up so not to set off Hermione again, and thankfully, the footsteps retreated and finally faded.

Minutes later – less than thirty minutes later, to be more precise, unlike some other people – he came out of the bathroom, accompanied by steam, his own slight abs gleaming like a melting caramel slab, before he dressed himself, hauled up his rucksack, and slung out of the room and into the rest of the house, devoid of the pleasant greeting of vanilla essence he had grown used to but the memory of which now bore an gangrenous element to it, an association of death. He stepped into the buzzing sitting room, where Ron, Dean, and Seamus stood looking a little high-strung in some decent clothing. Harry smiled at them in greeting as he passed, coming over to Draco.

Hermione had a checklist in her hand.

"Okay. All parties are present." And she ticked a box on the checklist.

The boys' lips twitched.

"Everyone seems clean..." she said vaguely, her eyes scanning them under her eyelashes a little doubtfully, and she lingered particularly on Ron, though she finally checked another box on her piece of parchment.

"Does everyone have their wands?"

The boys responded with derisive snorts.

"We're wizards, Hermione," said Ron, rolling his eyes.

"I was just making sure," sniffed Hermione, with dignity. "No need to defend your high wizardness. Um, Harry, have you got your Invisibility Cloak?"

Harry was on the verge of asking of what use the Cloak would be, but then experience told him it was better to be safe than sorry, no matter how unthreatening a situation into which he may be heading appeared.

"Yeah," he said, as he patted his rucksack, which hadn't been fully unloaded since he had been here.

"Why're you taking your whole bag?" asked Hermione. "We're coming back here soon, yeah."

"Oh, right." He abandoned it on the couch after pulling out his Invisibility Cloak.

"And ours got blown away, of course," said Seamus gloomily, referring to the night when Voldemort had released a furious shriek and sent the DA's lesser Invisibility Cloaks into the wind.

"And do you have your Marauder's Map?" Hermione asked further, and looking around at their sceptical faces, she continued, "We might just need it, I don't know!"

Ron snorted, "It's like you're expecting You-Know-Who himself to-"

"Voldemort," said Harry, suddenly dropping what he was doing and pinning his stare on Ron.

A shiver ran up Ron's lanky body, and he opened his eyes again and continued, "You-Know-Who to waltz up in there and start-"

"Voldemort," said Harry again, in a very clipped voice, now glaring at Ron, who had no intention, it seemed, to look anywhere in Harry's direction, nor to say the proper name. "Say it, Ron."

All eyes went to Ron.

Harry looked around at the rest. "I want all of you to say it; fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself, like Dumbledore said."

"Only we aren't Dumbledore or Harry Potter, are we now," muttered Ron irritably.

"Yeah, but you're also not as hungry to kill him as he is, right? Because he didn't kill your friends, the people you care about, did he, Ron? He didn't leave anyone orphaned other than the Boy Who Lived, did he now? He didn't take down Dumbledore, or Mr Ollivander, or even Snape, did he? Surely we aren't furious enough to even say his name properly-"

"Mate, we've had this argument before, so if you-"

"And you're right, we have, and nothing has changed. Don't you see, Ron? You're just making him scarier just by continuing to use that name! If you just say it-!"

"I don't want to say it!"

"Just say it, Ron," said Hermione quietly, whereupon Ron whipped round to her with bulging eyes as though he had expected her to be the last person to demand such a thing from him. He glared at her for a while, but after she returned it with a hard, unshakeable stare of her own, Ron gulped and looked down at the floor, before finally sighing, looking up slowly towards the heavens, and whispered,

"V—V—Voldemort."

He cringed as though he expected something to happen after that, such as an explosion or Voldemort himself to materialize before him and torture him for merely daring to speak his self-fashioned name.

"Thank you," said Harry heartily.

Ron swallowed, his freckles standing out slightly more than usual, looking peaky, as though he had undergone some major trauma.

Harry turned to Dean and Seamus, and expectation bathed in the silence.

Seamus immediately paled at the attention suddenly assuming the both of them. He swiftly turned to Dean, who too swallowed, blinking rapidly.

"But, Harry, we're not Ron – I mean, we don't have the same... We're not scared of him or anything... are we..?" he vaguely asked Seamus, who was in no condition to answer and so merely nodded vigorously.

"Come on," said Harry.

After a moment, Dean seemed to brace himself and then said, "Fine. Voldemort." He, as Ron had, waited for a while as though expecting something to happen, and then he said tentatively again, "Voldemort," and then more confidently, "Voldemort. Voldemort." He clapped Seamus on the back. "Voldemort," he said, nodding, as though the name was now a term of encouragement.

Seamus mumbled something quickly under his breath.

Smiling, Dean clapped him harder on the back. "Voldemort!"

Dean was growing rather alarmingly fond of the name.

Seamus' lips vibrated with some inarticulate word again.

"Voldemort," said Draco, to sudden silence.

Harry turned sharply to him, thunderstruck. He never would have expected him to do it; in fact, after Seamus would say it, he hadn't intended rounding on him, not after everything he had been through; if there was anybody who had the right to fear Voldemort it was Draco, but here he was, he had said the name, and now surely Seamus had no excuse.

And sure enough, when Draco's and Seamus' eyes met, they seemed to exchange encouragement between them, and next thing Seamus was drawing himself to his fullest height, swelling his chest out, fisting his hands decisively, and he roared,

"Voldemort!"

Harry couldn't help a grin at Seamus while he was being clapped by Ron and Dean in congratulations, after which Seamus smiled shyly at Draco with glowing cheeks.

Harry turned back to Draco. He still couldn't believe it. Something seemed to have changed since yesterday and now, since that moment when he had jumped back, honestly repulsed by something of Draco's, and Draco had subsequently made a vow to kill Voldemort if it was the last thing he did. Harry thought now that he may have underestimated its potency. He loped over to Draco and hugged him, pulled back, and just stared into his face, feeling inspired by his boyfriend, who smiled back at him softly, yet still with a hardened look to his eyes. He stepped aside and stood next to him, taking him by the hand, waiting on Hermione to let her finish her little checklist.

Smiling, and with her eyes a little shiny, Hermione squinted back down to her checklist.

"Okay, er, has anyone still got their DA Galleons?"

Confused expressions abounded.

"For communication," sighed Hermione exasperatedly, "we have to always have a means of communication, guys."

"But for what?" asked Dean.

Hermione sighed edgily. "I don't know, but I would like to take precautions, please. I think I would feel a whole lot more at ease if I knew we all had them. So anybody?"

"I can't say I've ever had one," said Draco, who sounded not to regret this.

"Mine's in the dormitory still," said Harry, to the accompaniment of nods from Ron, Dean, and Seamus.

Hermione's lips pursed before she slipped out of her pocket a large Enchanted Galleon, whipped out her wand, and muttered an incantation. What happened next was five coins glowing in her hands, which she handed out to each of them, and as she came to Draco, she said, "And now you have one so you can't feel left out."

Ron exchanged a smirk with Dean.

"Right," lilted Hermione in a ringing voice, after ticking another checkbox. "And the last thing is the Portkey to bring us back here." She turned to Draco, who didn't react promptly and who then gave her a look.

"Draco, the Portkey," said Hermione brusquely.

"Obviously I got it, Granger, for Salazar's sake." And Draco clucked his tongue, looking insulted.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "You know, Draco-" Draco's head gave an odd twitch. "-I think we have gone through enough stuff with each other. The smallest courtesy you can pay me is saying my first name."

"Dream on it," snorted Draco derisively.

"Draco," said Harry.

"No, Harry, really, if he doesn't want to, he doesn't have to. I really don't need him to do it to live on. Moving on," she said airily, looking back down at her list.

"Hermione."

After saying Hermione's name, Draco's cheek gave an odd twitch itself as though he really were undergoing something torturous.

"Hermione," Draco said, with more conviction.

"Thank you, Draco," said Hermione, in a voice directly between sweet and dispassionate. "See, it wasn't like marriage."

"I beg to differ."

"And I think we'll need a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ before we get back," continued Hermione clinically, almost walking over Draco's words; Harry nearly smiled in amusement.

"And why would we need that old piece of trash?" asked Harry, his near smile suddenly vanishing, without bothering to hide or regulate his sudden contempt.

"Because we need to know what's going on out there," said Hermione carefully. "We cannot simply live in a bubble here, no matter how nicely comfortable it is. Okay, and then-"

"A Daily Howler!" said Seamus excitedly.

"And what may that be?" asked Hermione, after a moment, already frowning disapprovingly at Seamus.

"A Daily Howler – just a little Howler you get every day on some juicy titbit that happens that day, you know. It says so on the back cover of the _Howler_. Of course they keep the big Howls for the mother weekly _Hogwarts Howler_ itself. I'm telling you, they are something, those girls are."

Hermione cleared her throat.

"Right," she said sceptically, "and then... okay, we're done!"

Seamus sighed with deep relief. "Finally!" He grabbed _The Hogwarts Howler_ off the table and stuffed it into his robe. Hermione's eyes once again ran over their attire, seeing their suitable for a funeral, and when she was satisfied, evidently, she marched out of the room, followed by the boys, out of the house, into the slightly dim sky which was, however, rapidly clearing up after yesterday's dry thunderstorm. Once again hand in hand, they journeyed ahead through the vineyard (Seamus suddenly looking rueful), and then stopped a few yards short of the cliff face, roughly where they had appeared almost two weeks ago.

"What time is the actual funeral itself?" Draco asked.

"Ten," answered Seamus, who Harry suspected had picked this up from _The Hogwarts Howler_, which he must have read from the front page to the back cover, or at least enough to know even about Daily Howlers.

Draco took Harry's arm and studied the silver watch on his wrist. "Blasted. Can't say I would love to chat and mingle with the crowd. We've got a good half-hour to kill."

"Let's just go, can't we," said Harry, to whom the prospect of seeing Hogwarts and his schoolmates again was overwhelming, just everything that was normal to him, that he cherished and loved... And he would really love to see Hedwig again.

After regarding him for a second, Draco took out the bedazzled hairpin Portkey and his wand, which he waved over it while muttering some complicated-sounding spells until it flashed blue, and immediately, like a hyperlink, it sent Harry's mind back to the floor of a corridor at Hogwarts where there had once lay Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, the one's face cast aside, the other staring vacantly at the glass ceiling above. Harry's stomach floated sickeningly, and he shook his head to clear it.

"That was to go," said Draco, and then muttered another fusillade of incantations at the Portkey, which flashed blue again, while Hermione looked down at the process with an offended frown. "And that was to come back. We go at nine-thirty and come back at eleven."

"Right," said Hermione, shaking off her discomfort and removing her eyes from the set Portkey.

There were perhaps a few minutes to go, but in those minutes Harry's heart was flinging itself to his ribcage. He would see Hogwarts again, but he would see Dumbledore finally laid to rest... He would see Lavender, and Neville, and Ginny, the rest of the DA, his teachers... even McGonagall, no matter how frosty she had been after finding out he had led a secret Defence organization.

Harry tried to calm his nerves by squeezing on Draco's hand and taking in the blurry morning horizon in front of him.

For some seconds, no one spoke, but they all silently looked around them, holding their partner's hands in their own, Hermione's hair swaying softly in the slight breeze.

Harry checked himself out and dusted a few places on him.

Then Hermione suddenly gasped.

"But wait, what if the Portkey puts us right in the middle of that corridor? People will see us!"

"They will eventually see us anyway at the funeral," said Ron.

"But you know how they can react, Ron," argued Hermione. "When they see us they're going to make a commotion!"

"Why not use your Disillusionment Charms?" suggested Draco.

"They're not so... good... not like a proper Invisibility Cloak, but Harry's won't fit us all."

"You're absolutely bursting with confidence," remarked Draco.

"They're better than nothing, though," said Harry, at the back of Draco's sarcasm.

"Fine then," said Hermione, and she produced her wand. "Oh! I should also combine them!"

"Nice!" said Ron appreciatively.

And so she performed the Combined Disillusionment Charms, and coupled with the fact that they were from advanced Charmery – Charms taught at university level – they didn't disappoint as they all dissolved from reality almost completely save for the slightest invisible shimmer when they moved.

"Might as well leave these on at the funeral too," said a bodiless voice. "That way, we won't have to bother anyone or answer any questions."

"Fantastic idea," said Seamus' voice.

So they would be attending Dumbledore's funeral invisible... It didn't feel right, but he had no choice, he thought, as they were probably going to be officials attending as well, and it wouldn't be good to have Harry Potter back in the headlines.

"Is everyone set?"

Before anyone could voice their agreement after instinctually nodding pointlessly, there came...

A flash of blue.

A hyperlink to Draco's dead parents on the floor again.

A second flash of blue.

A prompt for his heart to thunder against his chest.

A third flash of blue.

"Hold together now," said Draco's voice, and they all formed a circle, making sure they had someone in contact with.

A fourth flash of blue.

Harry looked back the blurry villa behind them. He remembered Draco saying, 'We deserve this, Harry. Finally, we're here,' and he thought, _We don't deserve it just yet, Draco._

A fifth flash of blue, and there came the familiar sensation of a pull behind his navel, before he was jerked backwards along with the rest and then he was hurtling through a colourful kaleidoscope of blurring structures and whipping scenery for his feet to find once again solid ground, and for some moments he dared not open his eyes, feeling the blood roaring through his ears, which, however, picked up on no sound of milling footsteps.

Harry opened his eyes to an empty corridor in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He heard the others gasping for air beside him, experiencing the after-effects of travelling by Portkey.

"There's no one here," panted Hermione's voice.

"Where is it going to be again?" gasped Harry.

"In front of the Great Lake," breathed Seamus.

"Off we are, then," whispered Draco breathlessly, and they started trooping towards said destination, a journey which on its own was proving quite challenging for those who weren't experienced in walking without seeing any of their limbs, such as Seamus, Dean, and even Draco, despite their very brief acquaintance with their lesser Invisibility Cloaks almost a fortnight ago. Seamus had stumbled a few times to follow it with furious hisses, while Harry was being intermittently bumped into by Draco.

But finally they made it down to the lower floors, through the Entrance Hall, and then, after daunted sighs from some, began negotiating their way down the terraces towards the lake, in front of which milled about hundreds of people, it seemed, something which intimidated Harry a little, despite himself and that he felt he was most deserving of attending the funeral. They finally reached level ground – some sighs of relief – and proceeded forward carefully.

"Our best bet is Hagrid," whispered Hermione. "Most people probably won't want to sit in the same bank. He'll probably sit at the back there."

Harry had been just about to search for the biggest object in his field of view, but he couldn't find Hagrid anywhere. They made their way to the last pew on the grass and slotted onto them at the very edge of the furthest side from the aisle, where Harry could see no more than a countless sea of heads; this wasn't fair, it wasn't fair he were to see Dumbledore's funeral like this. He knew he meant much to Dumbledore and Dumbledore definitely meant much to him, so he didn't feel he deserved such a seat, but at the same time, he didn't want to endanger their seeming absence.

After a few minutes of Harry grinding his jaw with a stoic face looking forward, quite in his own space of mind, the chatter started dying down, many started finding their seats again, and finally a lull surrounded them as a withered old short man with cloud-like eyebrows took to the pulpit and began addressing the gathered.

Words were spoken, of praise and commendation, of tragedy and sorrow. Harry absorbed none of it, and he had forgotten the invisible people next to him, but then his mind geared back to alertness when people started turning around in their seats to look behind them; Harry quickly did so, and with another feeling of something being crushed inside him, he watched as Hagrid carried something covered in robes of midnight-blue strewn with a thousand stars forward, towards the front. Harry's breath became wheezy, his lungs felt small again – incapable of their function; there was a smothering weight on his chest. Draco took him by the hand, onto which he latched.

Hagrid lumbered past them, crying liberally and unashamedly at the figure he was holding in his huge hands. More useless words were spoken, there came a sound of sparkles, and the next thing a white tomb was rising from the lake, gleaming like marble. Hagrid footslogged forward, the tomb came nearer the edge of the lake, Hagrid gently placed the body in the casket, which floated away to the centre of the lake and began to lower back into the depths of the waters.

Arrows pierced the sky from nowhere to sounds of exclamation and surprise; the centaurs had paid their respects and were galloping away after a brief appearance. The tomb lowered further towards the lake, and then at that moment there came a melodious coo which seemed to come from all corners of the air before something scarlet and golden ascended the sky – Fawkes, and just as the white tomb touched the water and then disappeared completely off the face of its surfaces, there was another lamenting cry from Fawkes, who again pasted his echo across the sky and flew away, never to be seen again, never to protect Harry again.

Harry stood up, having seen what he had wanted to, and slipped out from the row, making sure to brush each knee as he did so to let them know he was leaving. The air slightly rippled again as they all stood up, holding hands so they did not lose anyone, and so they journeyed up the grass like this, behind them the congregation beginning to break up.

They didn't speak while they treaded carefully, but then they could hear some figures behind them approaching, and Harry turned his head to see the students of Gryffindor House leading the march back towards the castle while the delegates headed for the school gates. Harry felt torn: he didn't want for his Housemates to see him, yet he did, wanted their affection to wash him over, but he kept with the rest and continued towards the castle.

"We need to sneak into Dumbledore's office!" whispered Hermione.

"But how?" asked Seamus quietly.

"I don't know… wait for McGonagall to open it, I guess."

"I'd really like to fetch my chess set in the dormitory," said Ron.

_And I would really like to have my Firebolt back_, thought Harry.

"Ron, going to our dormitories was not part of the plan, which was to find the books in Dumbledore's office and get a hold of Ginny without alerting anyone else. Speaking of whom…"

They all turned back to the Gryffindors, but they could not find her amongst the heads.

"And don't forget our pets," said Dean.

"Right. But how are we going to get into the dormitories without being seen?"

"Wait for all of them to get in and we can sneak in last," said Harry.

There was a hiss from behind them, and they all turned their heads back to see Crookshanks swivelling his own head this way and that as he stalked around them, his ears reared, having sense something.

"Crookshanks," said Ginny, running over to him and scooping him up in her arms.

Harry tried to imagine Ron's face then.

"Now's the time," he said to Ron. "Nudge her or something."

"Right in front of everyone?"

"When else are you gonna get the chance?" asked Harry.

"She's walking ahead of everyone," said Ron, "so maybe we should just wait until we're back in the castle; we might be able to haul her off into a secret passage or an alcove or something."

"Good idea," whispered Hermione, unable to hide the disbelief from her voice.

So they tracked Ginny while she led the way, holding Crookshanks in her hands, until they set foot on the flagstone floor of the castle, and just before Ron went forward to touch her, Hermione jerked him back blindly, apparently having changed her mind.

"Wait! She'll know the password so we'd get in!"

"But then everybody will be in the Tower!"

Ginny frowned as she looked around her.

"Keep quiet," whispered Hermione.

Ginny's frown lifted, and then she was climbing the stairs, the gang right behind her. Harry noted that several portraits were empty and sported huge black burn marks on them as though they had been blasted by hexes or curse. Seconds later Ginny stood in front of the empty portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Oh, that woman," said Ginny irritably, at the portrait one Fat Lady short.

"Excuse you, dear," slurred the Fat Lady with matching irritation, as she wobbled back into her portrait and took her seat, "but I was seeing off our headmaster's soul with Violet over a glass of wine or two. No need to get all attitudy with me, sweet cheeks."

"You're just pissed so little people came to your Portraits' Party," sniffed Ginny, petting Crookshanks, while the rest of Gryffindor House were drawing nearer, their chatter bouncing along the walls.

"And how would you know about that?" asked the Fat Lady, with her glazed eyes narrowed, and then she belched loudly, her body wobbling alarmingly.

"Sir Cadogen told me," replied Ginny. "After you kicked him out of it."

"The day that man breaks his neck it will be too soon," whispered the Fat Lady, swaying on her seat. "He was gate-crashing, by the way."

"Mint Toffee," said Ginny.

"No thanks, dear, I've had my fair share; I'm surprised I'm not shitting them yet." This made her burst into a fit of giggles that nearly dislodged her from her seat.

"No, the password."

"What? Oh right, yes, off you go."

She swept open and revealed a hole behind it.

As Ginny's voice rang in his mind of that sweet delicacy, Harry was glad to know he had never once declined a Mint Toffee from Dumbledore.

They followed her inside, and then Harry panicked when he realized she was not headed to the girls' dormitory or what would have been more fortunate, the toilet.

Ginny suddenly gasped and said, "Who's there?"

Harry gathered Ron had touched her, and sure enough, Hermione, forgetting to whisper, so furious she was, hissed, "Ron!"

"Hermione?" said Ginny incredulously, her eyes flying about before them. Crookshanks hissed again in Hermione's direction.

"The jig's up," said Seamus.

"Seamus?" said Ginny in disbelief.

"Yeah, it's us," said Harry quietly. "Ginny." Her bulging eyes darted somewhere where his voice originated. "No one must see us. We just wanted-"

"Where's Ron?" she asked quietly, her eyes turning slightly shiny.

"Here," said Ron.

"RON!" exploded Ginny at once, astounding Harry, who had been sure Ginny had been about to choke Ron in a deep hug of relief. Then again she couldn't see him. "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME, YOUR OWN SISTER? I'VE BEEN WORRIED BLOODY SICK AFTER WE COULDN'T FIND YOU! BUT NO, YOU DIDN'T THINK ABOUT YOUR POOR GIN, DID YOU! I SHOULD HAVE TOLD MOM AND DAD-!"

"Ginny, why're you screaming?" asked Lavender from behind them; Harry's pulse quickened.

"YOU—YOU—ALL OF YOU DISAPPEAR WITHOUT THE SLIGHTEST WORD OFF THE FACE OF HOGWARTS, NOT ONCE THINKING ABOUT THE PEOPLE THAT CARE ABOUT YOU!"

"Ginny, calm bloody down all right?" hissed Ron, looking back at the portrait hole, through which many were climbing into the common room.

"I DON'T GIVE A TOAD'S SLIMY ARSE!" shrieked Ginny crazily, while Crookshanks cowered next to who he may instinctually think was Hermione. "THEY'RE HERE! HARRY AND RON AND SEAMUS AND HERMIONE AND PROBABLY DEAN TOO!"

Harry imagined Dean finding yet another loose thread to worry over.

Murmurs broke as the common room filled with Gryffindors. Harry sighed dejectedly, looking into the blazing hazel eyes of Ginny's, her hair vibrating furiously. He heard people murmuring his name at the thin air, and he thought they had no choice but to reveal themselves to them.

He sighed. "Hermione."

"_Finite Incantatem_," she said, and repeated it five more times.

Gasps rumbled about the Gryffindors.

"Godric's calluses, we had been worried sick about you guys!" cried Lavender, as she bounded forward and lunged into Harry's arms. "How could you just disappear like that? We wanted to tell McGonagall that you had somehow gone missing-"

"But thought better of it, considering it's not the first time you've acted so selfishly!" finished Ginny. "I just should have told mom; oh, you would be running back here right quick."

"So I guess you didn't tell her?" said Ron, and he grinned tentatively. "Thanks, Gin."

"Don't you thank me, you git of a brother!" And she clapped him around the head powerfully, sending Ron cowering as Crookshanks was. Harry promised himself he would not make the mistake of underestimating Ginny – in fact, all girls. He remembered what Hermione had done when he had told her he had been in Draco's room taking a bath while he was supposed to be with Professor Strolm from Vaux University, for which and whom Hermione held in deservedly high esteem.

"But, guys, where were you all this time?" asked Neville, as he came into view, keeping a calculated distance from Ginny.

"At Draco's," answered Harry, but then quickly said, "but we really need to get a move on." He turned to Ginny. "We just wanted to tell you not to worry, we're all okay-"

"You're going back?" Ginny breathed, her whole bodily seemingly waiting to explode.

"Um," said Harry, tempted to take a step back. "Kind of, um, yeah – we have to."

"And what do you mean you 'have to'?" asked Ginny quietly, still in that hinged way, while she swelled cantankerously.

"We're trying to destroy Voldemort," said Harry, censoring himself carefully, for no one was supposed to know what they were doing but also at the same trying to give as much information as possible to pacify Ginny. "It's not that simple. We can't kill him until we do certain things before that."

Ginny's eyebrows contracted while her mouth hung open still.

"Basically we've dropped out of school to do just that," said Dean, looking down and playing, as Harry imagined, with yet another loose thread he had found on his clothes. "It's the only way we can be able to finally kill him."

Seeing that she was so shocked she was unresponsive, Harry turned towards the rest of the DA. "This is still a war."

"But we'll come with you!" said Neville, nodding and inching closer to his girlfriend Fatima Swinehouse.

"No," said Harry firmly. "We're doing this alone."

"Come on, we're all in this together, aren't we?" argued Neville. "To the death, always together, always fighting!"

Cheers broke out from the DA members in Gryffindor.

"No!" said Harry. "No one's going to die again on my account."

"And I'm staying behind again?" asked Ginny; Harry turned back to her.

"I'm sorry but yeah."

"I'm telling mom and dad," she threatened, staring at Ron.

"Fine," said Harry harshly, beyond caring at this point. He just wanted to get away from all of them. Now that he saw them again and their readiness to risk their lives for his purpose again was more than overwhelming. He wanted to get out of there. He wanted to catch Professor McGonagall entering Dumbledore's office before the gargoyle guarding it leapt back into place. "Do what you want – you're still not coming with."

Ginny looked at him with a face of profound betrayal.

"I'm almost tempted not to give this to you," sniffed Lavender, holding out a bag drowned in multi-coloured ribbons and filled with chocolate Galleons, cards, and other sweets to Draco, "but I can't take away from you that you're still the hottest and most voted for hunk."

Draco took the gift bag with a raised eyebrow. "Er... thank you," he said uncertainly.

Seamus blushed.

Harry remembered that Draco had been voted Hottest Hunk in Hogwarts by fifty-eight percent of all the students, or at least those who read _The Hogwarts Howler_.

Ron suddenly turned on Ginny, put his hands on his hips, and gave her a stare of brotherly sternness.

"Yeah, and how exactly did you manage to have four percent of Hogwarts vote for you? Is there something I should know?"

Ginny looked both angry and embarrassed.

"And what about Drarry's?" asked one boy meekly, from the flanks of the crowd. He was staring halfway between the floor and Harry and Draco.

"That gay club thing?" asked Ron, turning away from a slightly relieved-looking Ginny.

Everyone turned to the meek boy.

"You could at least visit us once; make a speech, or something – anything... We just wanna meet you guys, our heroes," said the boy.

Harry stared at the boy, who rather reminded him of Sprinkly in that 'GALEFORCE GAYS GALORE' article in _The Hogwarts Howler_. It must have taken a great deal of courage to say. There was something defiant about his meek posture, which suggested he was taking a great personal risk outing himself as he was; Harry felt a little more guilty, but then at that moment there were quick, running footsteps, and Harry just caught sight of a flying fist, and the next thing he was stumbling backwards, stars dancing in front of his eyes.

Draco had been so shocked that a Gryffindor had attacked their own hero boy that he was frozen for several seconds, but then he whipped out his wand and sent Dennis Creevey flying through the air himself and crashing into other students.

"You killed him!" growled Dennis loudly, scrambling to his feet. "You killed my brother!"

Harry stared at him, holding his throbbing eye.

Dennis took off the floor again, but someone held him back. "HE LOVED YOU, YOU KNOW THAT! HOW COULD YOU LET HIM DIE?"

Harry couldn't answer. His throat was closing up again, but at the same time the pain in his eye was giving him a few ideas with his own wand.

"Oi, you!" shouted Ron. "Your brother begged Harry to take him with us! Don't you dare blame this on any of us!"

But Dennis Creevey was still struggling in one of the DA member's arms, killing Harry with his deadly glare, struggling to breathe properly, so much was his rage.

Harry turned his back to him, ground his jaw, and set off for the stairs, after which he flung the fifth-year-boys' dormitory door open and stomped towards his trunk, behind which he grabbed his Firebolt and in which some few belongings, including extra clothes, which he shrunk. Ron went to his own bed and started gathering stuff too, not last being his wizard chess set.

"He's barmy, that one is. Don't listen to him, Harry."

"I'm not," said Harry.

"He forced your hand, it wasn't your fault."

Harry made quick work of gathering what he wanted, and then he was heading to the door, traversing the stairs, and quietly asked for the students to make way for him, his Firebolt coming handy in clearing the way.

"Do you have a copy of the _Daily Prophet_?" Hermione asked Ginny, as they emerged from the girls' dormitory, Hermione shrinking some items of clothing herself and stuffing them into a pocket.

"You're actually leaving me behind again?" Ginny asked, her eyes brimming.

Hermione was also employing a visage of dispassion towards Ginny, perhaps not wishing for her emotions to get the better of her. Crookshanks was purring at her feet, begging for affection.

After seeking some connection in her, seeing as they were both girls, and failing, Ginny drifted away in a haze of sheer disbelief before she returned seconds later with a copy of the _Daily Prophet_, whereupon Hermione said, "Thank you," quietly and pushed through the throng of Gryffindors towards the portrait hole, from which they emerged into the corridor outside and started making their way towards the headmistress' office.

Hermione clucked her tongue. "Harry, did you really have to bring that thing with? It will be hard to conceal."

"You'll never understand the relationship between a bloke and his broom, Hermione," remarked Ron, who had deemed this explanation sufficient, apparently, and he and the rest of the boys seemed to have excused Harry's clumsiness because of carrying the broom as though it was as normal as carrying an umbrella.

The Fat Lady gasped behind them.

"Harry? Oh dear Merlin's knickers, is that you? Hey, don't walk away from me! Ah!" And she shuffled out of her portrait undoubtedly to tell Violet.

Hermione turned her glare away from her empty portrait to look down at the _Daily Prophet_ in her hand, at which point she stopped walking.

"Kingsley took an early bath from the Minister of Magic post."

She sighed as she promptly resumed walking and threw the _Daily Prophet _at the floor, beyond caring at this point, it seemed.

Another chip fell away of Harry's heart. He heard the others sighing ruefully but did not speak.

"Guys, wait up!" they heard them behind them, and they turned around to see Neville stumbling out of the portrait hole and running towards them. "I'm sorry, guys, but that really wasn't cool back there."

"We had no choice, Neville, and we don't have time either," said Harry, as he sloped his broom on his shoulder.

Neville panted beside them. "Kingsley. Shame, isn't it?"

"Can't say it was a surprise," said Harry. "I don't know why he took up the post in the first place when Dumbledore came back from the Ministry hung on his own school gate."

"You-Know-Who's people are really starting to tighten their grip around here too," said Neville, without a flicker of a frown of worry. "You can't say it's really a school anymore."

"What's happening?" asked Hermione frowningly.

"Well, let's just saying losing House points is the least of our worries. The Carrows... nightmare... and McGonagall can't do anything about it..."

"The Carrows?" asked Harry, the name ringing a bell.

"Armelo's father and aunt, probably," said Draco.

"Oh," said Harry, understanding that the Carrows were the family of one of the boys whom had trapped back them on the fifth floor.

"Yeah," continued Neville. "The Slytherins are getting really comfortable, roaming any part of the castle as if they own it. You find them around Gryffindor Tower these days, even, picking on students at random. And they're looking for you, Harry, and Malfoy badly, look desperate even, threatening portraits and stuff, and _The Hogwarts Howler _is out of publication now."

"_What?_" squawked Seamus at once.

Neville simply nodded. "Shut it down completely, but Lavender isn't giving up. She's working on some system to keep in touch with the rest of the school besides using the Daily Howler, which are absolutely blind sighting the Carrows – they fly around and they can't catch them, not to mention they're invisible. But the Carrows also freed those blokes McGonagall was keeping locked up in a makeshift jail cell in some classroom for murdering Malfoy's parents."

"They released them?" yelled Hermione, beside herself, forgetting they were not supposed to draw attention towards themselves. "What is this world coming to? But you'll apologize for us properly, won't you, Neville?" she asked. "We really aren't doing this on purpose. It's just that we've got a lot to do, and we cannot have any complications. We can't have more people coming with us. We're sorry things are like this now."

"I understand, sure," said Neville simply again. He seemed quite over-disposed to the situation he was in such that his words didn't come with any amount of sadness but rather of being used to it, of acceptance. "But I gotta say you're doing this in one hell of a time. Some are traumatized by the so many killings, and the Patils are suing Hogwarts for Parvati's death."

Dean whistled under his breath.

"And I suppose one more's too much?" asked Neville.

"Too much," said Harry, trying to digest what he had just heard.

Neville nodded.

"So you came back to Hogwarts to tell Ginny to not tell her parents about your disappearance only?"

"We need to get into Dumbledore's office too," said Harry, as he continued slinging forward.

"Oh," said Neville, in that detached voice still. "Password's Chummy Chew-Chocs."

Harry stared at him.

"How did you know that?"

"Long story," said Neville, waving a hand dismissively. Not so long ago it would have been a privilege to be privy to the password of the headmaster's office. Now it did not seem so. "You'll probably have a few minutes open; McGonagall was seeing off the other guests when we left."

"Thanks, Neville," said Harry, and he began to hurry up.

"Apologize for us, please, Neville!" said Hermione, as they took off.

Neville waved at them, looking sad for the first, as they disappeared behind a corner.

"That didn't go so well, did it?" remarked Hermione.

"No, not at all," said Harry.

After recasting the Disillusionment Charms on all six of them again (luckily Harry's broom shimmered out of sight as well) with some exhaustion this, Hermione and the rest trooped onward, passing by some students, and emerged seconds later into the corridor of the phoenix gargoyle, in front of which they stood later.

"Chummy Chew-Chocs," intoned Harry, remembering that these were apparently known to be one of Dumbledore's favourite candies as per the _Daily Prophet_.

The gargoyle obediently leapt out of the way and revealed the spiral stairs, onto which Harry climbed along with the rest and ascended until he was facing a large mahogany door double. He pushed them open and walked into the circular office.

So familiar yet so different... So near yet so removed...

"This was Professor Dumbledore's office..." said Seamus, treading quietly in it as though afraid he would disturb its awesomeness by moving. Dean was looking similarly impressed to be in the office of one of the finest wizards to ever live.

Phineas Nigellus Black frowned towards the door.

"I do realize this is a magical school and not least its stairs have a mind of their own," he said, addressing no one in particular, "but surely it is not the norm as yet for doors to develop a conscience and open themselves, is it?"

"You'd be surprised," remarked his neighbour, who was wearing very colourful pyjamas inappropriate for the time, not to mention his age.

But Harry had not seen or heard any of what Seamus or the portraits had said, hadn't registered anything beyond the face that stared back at him as though it knew there was someone standing there, staring at him with a piercing look that made him feel as though he were being X-rayed. Harry stared at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore.

He couldn't answer why he hadn't expected it to be there, but he must have known; he remembered wanting to speak to it in that afternoon before going to Hogsmeade to fight the werewolves.

"Just look for some evil-looking kind of books," said Hermione, looking at Harry staring at the portrait, in which Dumbledore didn't shift from his seat, but his eyes were darting around Harry as though he also knew he had accomplices.

"And who exactly was that?" asked Black, with bravado.

"They're behind my portrait," said Dumbledore, whose voice pierced Harry's ears just as his blue eyes did. To hear that voice again...

Everyone stilled, perhaps shocked Dumbledore's portrait could see them. The air didn't shimmer for several seconds, but then Hermione deactivated her Disillusionment Charm and stared at the portrait.

"Intruders!" shouted Black at once. "Intruders in the school! Then again, what's so new about th-?"

"They are not intruders, Phineas, luckily," said Dumbledore, looking at them. "I swear I do not bite," he said, holding out his hands, encouraging Hermione to approach him. "Not that I can." And he chuckled.

Black looked from Hermione to Dumbledore, shocked beyond words.

Hermione looked back at the others with a gaping mouth, but then she walked forward again, tentatively lifted Dumbledore's large portrait upwards, and then started struggling to heave the large tomes out from there, at which point Ron went forward and assisted her. Soon enough, Hermione had shrunken the books and put them in her pocket, and so they now all stood there uncertainly while Harry stared at Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore, what is the meaning of this?" demanded Black, glowering at Hermione.

"Ignore him," drawled Draco, waving a derisive hand at Black, whose offended chest swelled.

Doing as Draco advised, Hermione gibbered uncertainly, "Perhaps we should—um—yes—give them... some room... or something..."

"Yeah, I agree," said Draco, who made to sweep off but faltered as he gave Harry a one-eyed side glance, perhaps hoping he would stop him or something, but Harry didn't do such a thing; he was still staring at Dumbledore. So after clearing his throat, Draco followed the rest of the office and into the vestibule. Seamus had gladly taken Harry's Firebolt to hold for him.

"Never thought I would see the day students simply waltz up in a headmistress' office and help themselves so, making themselves at home, daring to..."

"I did not wish to sound rude, but yes, I appreciate this terribly. If you would thank Miss Granger for me."

"Yes, sir," said Harry automatically, ignoring Black as well, a norm.

Dumbledore smiled. "Please take a seat, Harry."

Harry robotically did so and stared up at him.

Dumbledore exhaled and folded his hands on his lap. "It is good to see you again, my boy."

"And you, sir," said Harry. His mind was horribly stuck. It felt it was as though Dumbledore could be sitting on the opposite side of the table, smiling at him as he always did. Nothing could have been different. He couldn't believe he was talking to his headmaster again.

"I see you are already on your way to attacking Voldemort and his Horcruxes."

"Yes, sir."

"How sad that the lives of many rely upon the courage of few... I don't suppose you have any questions for me? By the way, you've had no further use for your glasses, I see?"

Harry's mind whirred, but all it could come to was that...

"I miss you."

Black stifled a strange noise he had made.

Dumbledore's eyes brimmed, and he smiled widely. "I miss you too, Harry, too much. There've been far too many tragedies in this school this year alone, haven't there?"

"Draco's parents too," said Harry, nodding as he brought his leg up onto his seat.

"Ah yes, the Malfoys," said Dumbledore, and his face seemed to crumble to look more than a double century old. "Poor Draco. I hear his parents were murdered right in these halls not even a fortnight ago. It is quite fortunate for him he has you on which to lean."

"Voldemort's really after him," said Harry, sniffing slightly. "Wants to kill him, make him suffer then if he can't. And he actually tried to call him back that night."

"_Come to me, my pretty catamite?" _he remembered Voldemort crooning.

"I believe, as you may as well, that Voldemort harbours a terrible sense of possession..."

Instead of agreeing whole-heartedly, Harry felt uncomfortable at these words; how many times had Draco said he was possessive?

"...He may be striving for absolute domination, which is a deadly and yet in some way admirable trait of Voldemort's – he always pursues things with the fullest conviction – he does not do half measures. He wished, perhaps, to dominate and to own Draco in the most absolute sense – in body, mind, and soul."

"Oh we're flattering the virtues of evil now, are we?" remarked Black not-so-quietly, as he dusted himself.

He was ignored.

"But if he wanted him so completely why would he want to kill him then?" asked Harry, remembering those Voldemort had charged with killing Draco – Theodore Nott, Mitchell Fauss... Yet he then remembered when Voldemort had discovered them on that Hogsmeade night. He had said, _"Stop them, stop __them! Kill Potter! Do not touch the others! Kill!"_ He hadn't ordered them to kill Draco, though he was open to having Greyback ravage him, not to mention, it had then became apparent, all his Death Eaters even after Lucius had beseeched to the contrary by the words_, "You know I had to enjoy the toy myself before I could pass him on."_

"Voldemort wished to kill Draco?" said Dumbledore, sounding politely surprised. "A boy who's less than unworthy of his attention when he has you and had me to worry about?"

"But he was drunk with him, or his body at least," said Harry, in a vague argument.

"Quite – his body, nothing more, for the mere principle of ownership, possession, not because he felt an affection or attraction to his body beyond the qualities it represented, which were, as you have said, the notions of purity and innocence."

"_You have done nothing to him, Potter, you understand? You haven't felt him. You don't own him. He belongs with me, chained to my bed..."_

"I admit I may be suffering a delusion. I believe he thinks that if he can't have Draco completely, no one should, including yourself, and so he may even go to the extent of killing him, yes, Harry, you may be right to an extent."

Some silent moments passed.

"That note you wrote with where Voldemort's Horcruxes are was destroyed," said Harry.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Really? I'm not tempted to ask how, but I do hope it has not jeopardised the secrecy of the mission."

"Oh no, it hasn't," said Harry quickly.

"Very well. I like to think my mind is just as brilliant as when I was alive. You might find some parchment in Minerva's drawer and she might forgive you for borrowing her prized quill."

Harry came to his feet, went around the table, and took out some parchment from the drawer and a long purple quill from the desk (something which infuriated Black), whereupon he started scribbling as Dumbledore spoke, tracing his every word with his abysmal eyes, which were within an inch of the parchment. When he finished, Harry stowed the parchment safely inside his robe and reclaimed his seat in front of Dumbledore's desk, and staring back at Dumbledore again, he remembered what Voldemort had said about him.

"Dumbledore said you were screaming before he killed you, that you had regrets and fears and nightmares..." He didn't want to push any further than this, feeling that he had already crossed a line.

Dumbledore took a while to answer. "Hm. Kill me. I suppose he didn't tell you I took down at least half of his Inferi army with me... As a man who has committed atrocities in his past, Harry, I do have my regrets, yes."

"And you needn't divulge them to the delinquent sitting before you or to any other person, but of course I'm never to be taken seriously, so why don't you go ahead, Dumbledore, indulge the boy..."

Ignoring Black, Harry wanted to ask what these regrets and atrocities were, but he found it indelicate, so he just stared at Dumbledore expectantly. He had thought he had known Dumbledore, but hearing this confirmation now...

Dumbledore sighed again, looking exhausted. "Family as it goes, Harry, family as it goes." But Dumbledore didn't elaborate, at which Harry felt just a little hurt, but he rationalized that Dumbledore couldn't confide such personal matters even with him. "What I feel comfortable to share, though," said Dumbledore, "was of a romance that never begun between myself and another young boy, much like you and Draco."

The portraits' and Harry's mouth fell open simultaneously; he couldn't believe this, yet he remembered Narcissa's words from the letter in Lucius' diary. How uncannily right she may have been...

"But, sir, you were... er... er..."

"It is not a terrible word to say, Harry. Gay, homosexual?" Harry felt profoundly strange to hear these words from Dumbledore, and he thought this feeling was shared by Black, whose eyelids were fluttering rapidly as though he had just taken a blow and couldn't quite believe it. "I do not wish to label what was between us so crudely, but in essence, yes, I confess he stoked much of my passions."

Harry couldn't speak out of sheer disbelief.

"You look shocked."

Harry closed his mouth.

Dumbledore's eye twinkled. "I saw much of myself in you, Harry, and that scared me, caused me some disquiet, but I could not deny that I was extremely happy for the two of you, for you to have found someone you care so deeply about that you would go to any lengths, and the best part is Voldemort doesn't recognize the danger of this, or at least I think so. It also reminded me of that certain person eons back in my youth..."

"Who was he?" asked Harry quietly, still not believing that Dumbledore had had a relationship with a boy, not to mention it was exceptionally hard to imagine Dumbledore as a teenager.

"Oh I don't doubt you have come across him already, Harry."

Harry gaped at Dumbledore.

"Him?" said Black incredulously, thrusting a finger at Harry.

"I know him already?" asked Harry, with equal astonishment.

"Yes, but now is not the time to enquire about such things; Professor McGonagall may step into this office anytime soon."

His mind still afloat, Harry nodded, while Black fixed his tie and pulled at his gloves absent-mindedly, looking distracted and disillusioned.

"Harry," said Dumbledore quietly, "I need for to you do one more thing for me."

"Yes, sir," said Harry a little apprehensively, but he knew that we would do anything for this man.

"You may recall that I had confiscated the wands of Mr Carrow's, Mr Zabini's, Mr Warrington's, and Mr Massice's. I wish for you to return their wands to them."

"And why would you wish for that?" asked Black, who was, however, already striding towards the side of his portrait, perhaps retreating to someplace where he wouldn't have to endure such devastating revelations of closeted homosexuality and the possessive streaks of megalomaniacs.

"I expect you can appreciate the sacredness of a promise," said Dumbledore, who indeed had promised as such.

"Yes, sir," said Harry, nodding, remembering the boys who had followed and captured him outside Draco's room, and remembering their fear when Fauss had been about to kill Draco; he felt the smallest drop of pity for them in the vast sea of dislike.

"They also languish in the hole behind me."

Harry went forward and swung the large portrait open to reveal a square space, at the back of which was a flat maroon box, which he took out, opened, and stared down at the four wands aligned perfectly next to each other. He took them and pocketed them.

"You can return them to their owners via the school owls; I did not want Minerva to find out about any of our operations involving young Draco, hence she was clueless about Draco's near death on the fifth floor. She was rather irate about that; it is safe to say I received a proper chastisement that Tuesday after the confrontation with you and Lucius Malfoy."

"And a confrontation that was," muttered Harry. "But, sir, what happened that night in the Ministry exactly?" he asked, as he returned to his seat.

"Oh, I believe you have the answer of that question in your possession."

"I do?"

"Oh yes, but I do not wish for you to dwell on the night of my death. I hear Kingsley has suffered a similar fate."

Harry was getting a little irked by these parables Dumbledore was harping about things and people he said Harry knew but which and whom Harry couldn't recall in the slightest at the moment.

"Yeah, it's in the _Daily Prophet_. Seems like everyone's falling off like flies these days..."

Seeing the abject depression pressing heavily on Harry's face, Dumbledore smiled sadly and said, "Evil is a fickle and tenacious character, Harry, and I don't deny that Voldemort's passion for corruption and decadence, but we should not allow ourselves to be smothered by it, but find the will within ourselves to battle and battle on."

"Yes, sir," murmured Harry automatically, staring at the empty table in front of him.

"For now, what you need to do is to avoid the Ministry entirely – all transportation regulated by it – the Floo Network and Apparition. Also, do not use Magic inside a field under the Ministry's watch. It may so be that Hogwarts is one such field. Free Portkeys, therefore, are you safest bet."

Harry nodded, but at that moment the others shuffled back into the room urgently.

"Someone's coming!" squeaked Hermione.

"I believe that is all we have time for, Harry," said Dumbledore, "and though I regret it, I must insist that this should be the last time we speak."

Harry looked into Dumbledore's painted blue eyes for a moment. He thought he recognized the reasons why Dumbledore wanted this, and so he nodded. It wouldn't do him good to dwell on the past, to return here to catch a glimpse of Dumbledore again. He was dead – gone – buried minutes ago. He had to accept that.

Dumbledore bowed graciously. "Miss Granger, I advise you to recast your Disillusionment Charms upon yourself and the others. They are exceedingly impressive, if you don't mind me saying."

"Th—thank you, Professor Dumbledore!" whispered Hermione, before she tiptoed in front of them and in record speed cast the Combined advanced Disillusionment Charms before the grinding noise of the spiral staircase could stop and the doors could open for Headmaster McGonagall to sweep inside.

"Good morning again, Minerva. I trust my funeral went splendidly well? I wouldn't have liked to see Hagrid in the slightest."

"He was a pitiable mess, Dumbledore, poor Hagrid... It's so strange speaking to you again..." McGonagall gave a rather mad chuckle but then broke into tears and covered her face with her handkerchief.

Harry and the others took this opportunity to slowly open the doors and slip out unnoticed.

"There, there, Minerva. You'll still have this old coot to sing you good morning every day! I'm not that easy to rid!"

They descended the stairs and emerged into the corridor.

"Hedwig and Dragonfly," said Hermione. "Oh, and little Pigwidgeon."

Clearly trying to hide his emotions, Ron snorted while they made their way carefully to the Owlery, with Seamus swearing under his breath again every time his feet climbed each other and Draco bumping along Harry.

They finally made it there but found someone there – Lavender. She had what looked like a hundred square pieces of parchment of a loud red colour floating in the air in a wad. With a wave of her wand, a piece floated into the air, an owl swooped and caught it with its beak, and just as it flew out of the Owlery, Lavender cast another charm on the letter, which shimmered into thin air. Then another owl swooped and collected another piece of floating parchment before zooming out the window, the letter later disappearing in its talons by Lavender's spell.

Seamus gasped. "Those must be the Daily Howlers!" he whispered. "I have to get one!"

"Seamus," warned Hermione.

The process continued for some time; even some of the discharged owls had returned for seconds, but finally the last Daily Howler was dispatched, at which point Lavender, after sighing in satisfaction, swept out of the Owlery and disappeared down the stairs.

Hermione removed the spells again, and owl droppings and hey crunched under Harry's feet as he proceeded forward after handing his Firebolt to Seamus to hold again.

"Hedwig!" he called, whereupon there was a distinct hoot, and next second a blur of white whooshed through the air and cuffed him in both ears. Screeching furiously, Hedwig next gave Harry what was unmistakably an uppercut, swiping her wing and walloping him from the chin up. "Oi! Hold off, hold off, I'm sorry, okay!"

She gave her loudest hoot yet after aiming for Harry's head and delivering more blows to it.

"I miss her so much," said Ron fondly, as he watched Harry being pummelled by his own owl, but when Hermione cleared her throat, he went forward as well and called out, "Pig!"

He regretted this in less than a split second later. There were excited chirpings before a grey streak flashed here and there, and little Pigwidgeon was soon trilling all over above their heads.

"Aaye..." said Ron, shaking his head but smirking.

"Dragonfly," called Draco, at which point there was a huge black shadow that fell. Seconds later Dragonfly was soaring majestically down the Owlery, the rich plumage of his golden wings gleaming in the morning sun through the window. He landed on the horizontal of Draco's arm, which again wobbled alarmingly but was steadied with experience.

"Hey, you," cooed Draco.

Dragonfly hooted and bobbed his head, the emerald ring around his neck glinting.

"Sorry I took off so suddenly," said Harry, stroking his snow-white owl. "Had to do it."

Hedwig, who now had released all her frustration on him and was disarmed, hooted plaintively.

Harry did not wish to stay any longer; so many things had depressed him. Hogwarts wasn't Hogwarts anymore after hearing the things Neville had said. He wanted to go back to that comfortable bubble of the villa after all.

"But I have to leave again, and you can't come with," he told Hedwig, who at least didn't strike him again with her wing but hooted sadly again. Understanding the cue, evidently, she nipped Harry on the nose before fluttering off and soaring towards the higher parts of the Owlery, whereupon Draco also released his own owl Dragonfly, who flew upwards and joined Hedwig.

Harry then approached the less distinct owls perching on the lower parts of the Owlery. He slipped out from his robes the four wands and then whistled to the owls. He glanced upwards to see if Hedwig was watching him giving other owls a mission. An interested owl ruffled its feathers excitedly, extending its leg.

"Give this to Armelo Carrow, okay?" said Harry, as he struggled with his poor vision to put one wand in its talons. "He's this massive, twitchy little bloke." Harry didn't care if this was an inadequate description; if the owls didn't recognize them and the wands weren't delivered, the better; at least four more Slytherins were weapon-less.

He moved onto the next owl, which twittered excitedly too. "Then there's Warrington – he's the hugest bloke in all of Slytherin, I think – huge arms, big head, doesn't talk much."

He didn't watch it take off as he moved onto the next one. "Blaise – looks Chinese – that should be enough."

He moved onto the next owl. "Massice – he's a little taller than me, his eyes are like hyperactive, he moves around a lot, got his weird laugh... Basically, any Slytherin you think might be the craziest he's the one."

"What was that?" asked Ron, after the last owl flew out.

"Long story," said Harry, and they turned around, took back his broom from Seamus, and trooped out.

"Would you mind recasting the charms on us, please," said Draco a little uncomfortably to Hermione as they descended the stairs, "Longbottom did say they were desperately hunting for us Harry and I badly."

Hermione sighed exhaustedly, no doubt dreading the effort of casting the spells again. "Right," she said, doing so nonetheless, until all that remained was the slightest shimmer of air. They wound through the castle walls – Harry noticing a few more blasted portraits – towards the corridor whence they had came for tradition's sake more than anything else, for they could disappear anywhere within the castle, a fact which now occurred to Harry.

"You know, I don't understand why we can do this in the first place, use the Portkey within Hogwarts, if you can't Apparate or Disapparate in it, and Malfoy and Draco's mother had to go down out of the school gate to use it, remember."

"I expect the castle lost some of its powerful security when Dumbledore passed away," said Hermione, as they turned into a corridor in which walked Carrow, Massice, Warrington, and Blaise towards them.

They all immediately halted, but neither of them save Harry and Draco stared at them with recognition. The knuckles around Harry's Firebolt whitened.

"Quiet," whispered Hermione, whereupon, as quick as a strike of a snake, the wary and cautious Carrow's head whipped to somewhere near them, his eyes scanning the corridor, but his companions seemed not to have heard a thing.

"Would've Crucioed him if I had my wand," growled Massice, in that high, hysterical voice of his as his partially clawed hands twitched. "He knows something, I know it – he was sweating like the pig he is. He's getting brave these days, Longbottom is, eh? He wouldn't have been strolling about the castle on his lonesome self not even a day ago."

"But what are we going to report to my father?" asked Warrington in a deep voice, which Harry hadn't heard before, looking slightly mad with worry. "We're going to the Owlery with nothing to say. Potter and his bandies didn't show up for Dumbledore's funeral like they expected them to."

At that moment, four owls flew above, heading away, but then in sequence they did an abrupt U-turn and were flying back towards them. Four wands dropped to the flagstone floor before the owls took to the Owlery again.

Harry stood there gaping; he couldn't believe the timing.

After merely staring at the clattering wands on the floor, Blaise went forward and collected each of them, recognizing his own with a frown. Then he went back and handed the others each of their own wands. They subsequently exchanged looks.

Massice threw his head back and released a whistling sort of laugh. "That barmy codger! He actually thought—what—we had, er, turned from our wicked ways?" And then his face changed completely and he said in a dreamy voice quite like Luna's, "As if we had a choice..." Harry was reminded strongly of the crazy third hyena in the _Lion King_.

Blaise merely smirked quietly.

But the return of his wand hadn't deterred Warrington's look of desperation.

Massice waved his wand experimentally to see if it would work after being separated from it and sent a stream of green sparks Seamus' way, most fortuitously, causing him to screech in alarm and duck aside into Dean, thereby making the air slightly shimmer with their movement.

Carrow's eyes narrowed.

"Ah, my wonderful wand, you're back in my hand!" sang Massice, twirling his wand now, grinning madly. "I should find that Longbottom stink and make good on my promise, don't you think?"

"We have a report to send!" growled Warrington angrily, his eyes wide. "And it should have read something like, 'We got Potter and Malfoy, please come and collect'!"

"Yeah, yeah, hold onto your bladder, Ken," said Carrow quietly, still staring through Dean and Seamus, who had frozen.

The four of them passed by Harry, Draco, Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Hermione without incident, but the latter were staring at their backs until they disappeared behind a corner. Harry then skittered quietly to the end of corridor to make sure, and saw the four continuing on their way towards the Owlery as well. Harry turned back to the others and had to reach them before saying quietly, "All clear."

They resumed their journey and minutes later they stood in the desired corridor.

"Right," said Harry, looking around still, his eyes even suspecting the portraits above them looking down at them. He noted a few more empty, charred portraits. He had looked behind over his Firebolt so many times during the course of their journey here, his neck felt a little sore, but he thought it was a small price to pay after being followed by those very same people save Fauss without his knowledge less than three weeks ago, which had nearly resulted in Draco's death.

Hermione lifted the spells.

"Well, we got what we came for," said Hermione, tucking her wand away.

"Doesn't feel like the Hogwarts we know, though, does it?" said Dean, echoing Harry's previous thoughts.

Ron, Hermione, and Seamus sighed despondently.

"I know just the thing that will cheer you guys up," said Draco, his eyes darting specifically to Harry. "It has been a rather morbid sort of day." He took out a stunningly beautiful metallic turquoise quill, dumbfounding the people around him.

"What, you're going to write us an uplifting message using that?" said Ron.

"No, _Weasley_," said Draco, stressing the name, a simple action which seemed to achieve a great deal by Ron, whose ears turned instantly red. It was a profound misfortune that his name sounded like an affront all on its own. "But it's a Portkey, if you care to know."

"But why use another Portkey to go back home?" asked Hermione.

Draco gave her a quick look, no doubt reacting to Hermione calling his house her 'home'.

"It's not to go home. I promised Harry his sight back, and that's exactly what I'm planning to do," he said, as he looked aside at Harry meaningfully.

Harry stared back at Draco, his lips slightly parted.

"Next stop – Winox Lane?" proposed Draco.

After a moment, Harry grinned at him and looked at the others, who appeared just as dumbstruck as he had been. To feel taken care of like this... It was another emotion he hadn't encountered before, not to rely upon oneself, not to expect anything beyond one's own actions. He felt as though the ground had left his feet again. Draco was looking out for him; his boyfriend had his back. Harry raised his eyebrows at the others questioningly.

"Winox Lane?" said Seamus.

Draco nodded. "Diagon Alley's higher class sister, if you will."

"It's like Diagon Alley? Well, what are we waiting for?" said Dean in blunt excitement.

Ron hadn't caught up exactly, and next to him Hermione didn't look convinced.

"But you just said you had set the Portkey for eleven o'clock," said Hermione.

"I lied," deadpanned Draco simply, as though this had been exceedingly obvious.

Hermione shook her head. "Hardly surprising. Look, I get it might be exciting, but we should really think about this properly. We have to limit our movements and how many people see us."

"Hermione, don't you want Harry's eyesight back?" asked Seamus, in a putout sort of way.

"Of course—of course I do-!"

"Then there's no question!" cut in Seamus, in a high voice.

She looked into Harry's eyes, and it barely took two seconds of doing this before her heart got the better of her. "Oh all right. Ron?"

"Yeah, sure, anything for Harry," said Ron, smiling a little vacantly and with his eyes regularly darting to Draco. Harry suspected Ron recognized what kind of milestone this had represented in their relationship, and was shaken by it.

"Then hold onto each other," said Draco, who could barely conceal his grin. He took Harry by the hand while the rest gathered around and secured some contact with one another.

A flash of blue.

Draco had remembered...

A second flash of blue.

Ron had looked shaken by their growing relationship.

A third flash of blue.

He would finally see that splendid garden properly.

A fourth flash of blue.

What could go wrong?

A fifth flash of blue and Harry felt a pull behind his navel before the world gave to a colourful kaleidoscope of blurring structures and whipping scenery until his lungs finally expanded in relief once more and he opened his eyes upon the until-then-fabled Winox Lane.


	6. Winox Lane

**Chapter 6**

**Winox Lane**

Winox Lane was no fable; it wasn't a shapeless place confined to the corners of his mind – his feet stood upon it.

Unlike, Diagon Alley, Winox Lane, Harry observed as he recovered from the after-effects of Portkey travel, didn't have long, winding roads and closely huddled shops almost standing on top of each other – Winox Lane looked severely ordered, polished, and very clean. Harry could only take in a couple of amblers wearing stylish matching attire before he and the others – their sounds of awe cut short – were swiftly dragged off by Hermione through the throng of passersby into a narrow passageway.

"We need disguises!" squeaked Hermione, her eyes darting around the dim fissure. "This whole thing could have been planned properly but someone had to spring this on us from nowhere!"

It was quite clear to whom she was referring.

"Why would we need—Oh," said Dean, with understanding after glancing at Harry.

"Seamus to the rescue!" trilled Seamus, as he whipped out his wand, which Dean stared at uneasily.

Harry ducked for cover.

"What are you doing?" asked Hermione, plainly alarmed.

"Disguising Harry. Saw a couple of charms in Body Maintenance & Modification in _Useless Magic_. I haven't practiced, though, though I reckon I can make it good."

"Er..." said Harry, dearly wishing to decline but not wanting to come across as impolite to Seamus.

The others looked at Seamus with clear hesitation.

"I was thinking we could just scrounge around for some pieces of clothing to cover us up rather than changing our appearance altogether," said Hermione, looking apprehensively at Seamus' wand as well.

"And you want to waste our time doing that?" asked Seamus, in a very demonstrative way.

No answer for this question came.

"See?" said Seamus victoriously, and he raised his wand again, taking aim at Harry, who couldn't help flinching away.

"Just stay put, mate, I'll be carefully, and the book didn't say it hurt too much."

"What?" squawked Harry, springing out of the aim of the wand. The book not saying it hurt 'too much' was not comforting to any degree.

"Don't move!" urged Seamus, shaking his wand threateningly.

"Just be careful, won't you, mate?" said Ron, looking tempted to inch closer to Harry protectively.

Several times Draco had opened his mouth to say something but had shut it again.

"All right," breathed Seamus, bracing himself, and what followed were a few funny-sounding spells from Seamus' lips which to a trained ear wouldn't have had a hope in hell of working.

But promisingly, everyone watched as Harry's hair, once a raven, jet black slowly lighten to a straw-blond colour; his scar, once shaped like a lightning bolt, stretched and morphed until it became a rather unsightly and mean-looking scar going across more than half of his forehead and into his temple; his shockingly green eyes demisted into a dazzling blue; and freckles sprouted on his cheeks and along the bridge of his nose. He looked quite American, just one snow shovel and a pair of ear muffins short.

"Brilliant!" praised Ron, and he and Seamus high-fived. "Come on, come on, do me, do me! I want spikes for hair, yeah. Er... could you like beef me up a bit if you can? And I also want a wicked scar like Harry's..."

"So how do I look?" Harry asked Draco.

Draco raised an eyebrow as he gave Harry a pursed-lip once-over. "You look great. Seamus did a real nice job."

Harry nodded, though he noted the lack of a praising note in Draco's voice (and he rather thought it was because of the scar), but when he looked aside there was someone else with them, someone resembling very much a Goth, with spiked, jet-black hair, black mascara around his eyes, and black freckles instead of naturally brown ones.

"Seamus!" said Hermione, scandalized by the sheer vulgarity of the look. "What are people going to say?"

"Give him a pink blush," chuckled Harry, at which point, with a grin, Seamus raised his wand again and the next thing Ron had two points of garish pink on his cheeks and streaks of pink in his black hair.

Everyone laughed at him except Hermione.

"Take that back!" moaned Ron at once, even though he didn't know what he looked like, but the other's reaction was enough of an indication.

"Seamus!" shrieked Hermione.

"Yeah, yeah, all right, hold onto your corset!" laughed Seamus, before he waved his wand again and Ron returned to his original appearance. After wearing a thoughtful frown, Seamus waved his wand again, sticking his tongue out in concentration, and the next thing Ron's flaming red hair became a silky auburn, his long nose shrunk and became upturned like Draco's, his freckles disappeared altogether, and his eyebrows became so bushy they seemed to weigh down his whole face.

"Seamus!" growled Ron, who must have felt their heaviness at once.

"You're no fun, brat," whined Seamus, and he corrected the eyebrows to make them so faint, Ron looked to have leukaemia, but he didn't need to know this. "Right," said Seamus, wiping sweat off his brow before he turned to Dean. "Deanie?"

"You can't do height, I suppose?" asked Dean, as he turned to face Seamus properly.

Seamus shook his head.

"Okay. I want a tooth earring like Kingsley!" said Dean grinningly, "and lots of chains!"

"Dean, we're supposed to be inconspicuous!" warned Hermione a little irritably.

Dean scowled in Hermione's direction. "Just make me _inconspicuous_, then," he muttered, flinging out the word as though showing it off.

Dean's short curly black hair exploded into a huge afro in front of Seamus' wand, his lips were also magnified such that they looked as though one could bounce a penny off them, and Seamus gave his ears a simple round earring to finish the look off.

Dean blinked around at them. "So? How do I look?"

"Foreign," answered Draco.

Dean pursed his huge lips; Draco stifled a laugh.

"Right, your turn, Draco," said Seamus, now suddenly looking nervous.

Draco looked at Seamus motionlessly for a moment, but then he shrugged, turned to face him fully, inclined his chin, and said, "Hit me."

Seamus coughed and cleared his throat, raised his wand, swallowed, and then muttered some spells to the effect that Draco's long, platinum-blond hair – his most striking feature and hence most important to alter – shortened and darkened to a golden blond; his sparkling silver eyes swirled and became a vivid blue quite like Dumbledore's; and his thin, shell-pink lips became slightly fuller.

Blushing, Seamus looked embarrassed for making Draco no less attractive than he had been before.

Draco turned to Harry and raised his newly golden eyebrow silently.

Adolf Hitler would have climaxed seeing Draco now, for he had envisioned the human race as this, with fair skin, blond hair, and blue eyes. Harry shook his head vaguely but then corrected himself and nodded.

"Beautiful—I mean, nice – you look n—nice."

Draco nodded.

"Hermione?"

"Oh, just get it over with!" squeaked Hermione, closing her eyes and covering her face anxiously.

"Um, I need you to see your face – it is my canvas, after all."

After a long time, Hermione braced herself, looked up, removed her hands, and offered her face to Seamus fearfully, at which point, after some spells, she grew a mole on her left cheek – Ron and Draco dissolved in silent laughter – her nose transformed into a button nose almost like a pig's snout, her eyebrows mushroomed to look like Jackal's, she was given some freckles on her forehead, and above this her hair transformed from a bushy mouse brown to a fiery and eye-watering crimson.

After realizing Seamus was finished, she breathed out, hyperventilating slightly, before she opened her eyes and stared all around at them.

"So?" she said, her eyes automatically finding Harry, who shook his head quickly.

"Wow!"

Her eyes flew to Draco, who was scratching one fine eyebrow furiously. She then turned to Dean, whose chin was quivering violently.

"You look splendidly dashing!" praised Ron loyally, with a huge smile.

When Hermione actually blushed, apparently believing him, Dean, Draco, and Seamus exploded into laughter.

"Harry!" demanded Hermione, her hands fisted on her sides.

"There's nothing wrong with you!" said Harry at once, over the laughter.

Hermione spun around, looking for something, and then she sprinted over to a window and stared at her reflection, whereupon she released a violent cluck of her tongue in irritation. She took out her wand, pointed at her face, and muttered something. Meanwhile, the others were still enjoying their laughter. Ron and Draco – not looking like themselves – were nodding interminably at each other as they were bent over breathlessly. Hermione came over a few seconds later, her chin high in dignity, looking around at all over them.

"We need to get a move on," she said clinically. "Seamus, you need to do yourself."

"Okay, okay," cried Seamus tremulously, teetering on his feet with the force of his laughter. He pointed his wand at himself and managed to control his lips enough to mutter some few spells, after which he stood in front of them freckle-less – therefore looking a little paler – with a brunet cap instead of his loud ginger hair, and olive eyes instead of blue.

"Right," said Hermione, with dignity, before she strode out of the narrow passageway into the sunlight.

The others followed her, clapping Seamus on the back, but neither of them save Harry had seen what Hermione had magicked on Seamus' pants.

"What's this?" shrieked Draco a second later, as he pulled on a pig's tail behind Seamus, where which every other eye went and then they released fresh howls of laughter, faces streaming with tears, bodies shaking as they spilled into the wide Kingsrow Road, where the previous sounds of awe abounded once more.

"Come on," said Draco quickly, over the other's remarks of 'Wow...' and he hurried up along the street for some reason after glancing aside at Harry.

"Where are we starting?" breathed Seamus, his still tearful eyes slowly taking in his surroundings, while Dean stared at a young witch passing by wearing a flattering white and blue outfit.

"Shepstones'," answered Draco, as he galloped, and Harry, with a burst of affection for Draco, rather thought that he wanted to withhold their experience of Winox Lane for his sake so that they could all enjoy it together.

Luckily Shepstones' wasn't very far off, for after only a block, Draco, whose hand had found Harry's wrist on several occasions, swept into a shop with white and purple pillars on the outside and a sign on top proclaiming, 'Shepstones' Special Service – Your Reliable Source of Request-Based Services'.

Numerous witches and wizards milled about in the aisles of the shop, while some traversed the wide space in front of a counter. There was a young-looking goblin – as young looking as they could look – sitting on a tall barstool next to what looked like a cupboard door, his long fingers wrapped around a newspaper he was reading with a pair of glasses bearing the title _It's a Goblin Thing_. Behind the counter stood two young, long-haired brunette twin witches (Harry very much agreed with Draco that they were quite easy on the eye) in matching robes of Roman purple and white serving a customer. Draco finally dragged him towards them, standing behind the counter next to the customer.

"Good morning," greeted Draco, in a pleasant lilt.

One of the twins, who appeared to be between her late twenties and late early thirties, said politely, "Morning, but you're going to have to wait to be served."

Draco looked utterly flabbergasted by this, but he quickly recovered himself and stood behind the customer, looking quite uncomfortable and even hurt.

"Suppose he's used to first preference, isn't he?" murmured Ron quietly at Dean. "Lovely little plunge back to earth, eh?"

Although he detested these words, Harry thought they were most probably true, while Draco was glaring disbelievingly at the customer in front of him.

When finally the customer was directed by the second twin to the back of the shop, the other twin greeted them again with a big, kind smile as though all had been forgiven.

"Yes, good morning," said Draco highly. "My friend here has a problem with his eyes. If you could correct them, that would be fantastic."

The witch raised an eyebrow and regarded Harry. "All right, let me see him," she said, in a ringing voice as she leant over the counter and took Harry by the jaw, peering into his eyes. "Hm," she said quietly and slowly, "I can't say we've had a patient like this before. Our most complicated order was by the Malfoys with the Chassio. You must know them. Took us ages to build, but this..." Draco's jaw muscles stood out, and he averted his eyes from the twin. "But they may be something to be done; isn't there always is? Right. I will have to examine him more properly in the back; could I steal him from you for just a shake?"

"Er—oh, yes, please!" said Draco a little distractedly.

Harry discovered that apart from being easy on the eye, she was easy on the nose as well, as a wonderful whiff of African violet came his way as she swept him off towards another door the counter's width away from the one through which the other twin and the customer had recently gone. They landed into a large, white room with odd-looking contraptions resting on the walls and a few benches here and there.

"The name's Calypso," said the witch, with a beautiful smile, as she dropped him into a seat in front of a white table, something which maddened Harry a little; yes, his eyesight was poor, but he wasn't completely incapable.

"Harry," said Harry automatically, but then after paling to match the table in front of him, he hurriedly amended, "--yold – Harold – Harold Topper – Harold Topper." He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat while the witch gave him an effortlessly bewitching smile.

"Right, Harold Topper," Calypso said. "You have a wonderful friend out there."

"Yeah, he's always looking out for my arse." Harry cleared his throat again. "Rather enjoying—I mean annoying, to be honest."

Calypso smiled.

"Okay, Harold. You seem to have a problem with your eyes. How well can you see?"

"Um, everything is blurry, of course. It also hurts a little when I strain to read or write."

Calypso nodded. "How blurry exactly is it?" she asked, as he drew out from two of her drawers about seven identical wands and laid them out perfectly on the white table.

Harry gulped down at them. "Um, quite blurry, actually, but I can see those quite clearly..."

Calypso looked up and regarded his frightful expression. "Oh no, don't worry, I don't think they will all be necessary... I have to confess I haven't done this sort of thing – bettering eyesight; I hope you'll forgive me if the results are disappointing, but I will try to do everything I can, all right, Harold? Does that sound okay?"

"Yes, ma'am." Harry sincerely wished she could correct his vision considerably; it was his last hope. Otherwise, he would have to somehow venture back into the Muggle world and see an optometrist, but how the legal complication would be resolved, he didn't know.

"All right. Now I want you to sit real still while I try to work, okay?" said Calypso, as she went around the table, sat on it, and took Harry by the jaw again with her other hand holding up her intimidating wand. She muttered something under her breath, after which she hummed in seeming understanding.

"I see. Well, clearly you've contracted your poor vision after birth, it's nothing genetic," observed Calypso, and Harry thought she was stating the obvious. "I'll tell you what, I'm going to have to consult some specialists and get a report back."

Harry's heart sank.

"So when are you expecting this report back?" he asked.

"Oh just a few seconds, won't take long, really." Calypso took a piece of parchment from the table and started scribbling on it, her brunette hair quivering slightly as she did so. "It's a wonder what a Flooport can do, eh?" She then glided off to a corner of the room where there stood something like a gilded toilet but with a seat with the width of a basin, and on the wall was a rectangular gold-tinted depression, at the base of which languished some logs.

Calypso opened one of the golden taps, whereupon green soot Harry likened to Floo powder flowed out and which she scooped with her other hand and threw onto the logs; greens flames erupted at once, and then Calypso shouted, "Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries!" The fire in the rectangular space in the wall roared and started churning like a whirlpool before it resumed a normal fire's appearance – except it was still green of course – and the tongues of the fire subsided to give way to a middle-aged woman wearing clean, white robes and a cap on her head.

"Yes?" said the woman in the fire, with a very kind and ringing voice.

"Ah, Healer Searle," said Calypso sweetly, hiding the piece of square parchment she had written on behind her. "I was wondering if you could help me. I have a customer here with quite poor vision and wondered if there was anything you could do to help him, anything at all."

"Poor vision, you say?" enquired the Healer, peering over her shoulder at Harry with her crane-like neck. She rather reminded Harry of Madam Pince, though the Healer seemed infinitely less severe and strict. "From Muggles?" murmured the Healer furtively with the corner of her thin, scarlet lips, at which point Calypso's hair quivered as she nodded, trying to be furtive as well. Healer Searle nodded back. "Well, it isn't any kind of magical injury, is it? Hence it utterly defeats me. I'm sorry, we do not usually treat poor vision unless it has some magical roots or cause. We're currently still treating this Frivilus young man. I know, exotic name, isn't it? He has also contracted some kind of blindess, but magically inflicted, you see – he was a Spell Researcher, whatever that is, and he must have gotten carried away with inventing new spells for the advancement of wizardkind or whatnot. But this one, I don't think I have ever come across it, sorry, sweetheart."

Calypso nodded readily; she seemed to have anticipated this.

"No, it's all right. If you could just give me some of these supplies, I would be extremely grateful." Calypso waved the piece of parchment at the Healer's flaming face, which nodded in agreement; Calypso inserted the parchment into an apparent chute between the two golden tabs, at which point the face in the fire looked down at the logs quietly. "Hm," she said, as she seemingly studied the logs. "I'll get them just now, all right?" she said in a kind lilt, before her face disappeared.

Calypso looked back at Harry and gave him the thumbs up, at which Harry could think of nothing else to do but smile.

It turned out to be quite a wait, as there tended to be with hospital matters. Harry had taken to studying the ceiling, while Calypso was twirling her wand idly.

The fire in the wall finally roared to life, heralding the return of the Healer, whereupon Harry looked away from the ceiling to her, as did Calypso.

"Very luck you are, darling," said the Healer, "managed to get all of them for once."

A few moments and a rattling noise later, Calypso's head bent down to the basin, from which she scooped a few boxes, vials, and glass jars up into her arms.

"Thank you so much, Miss Searle! I really appreciate it!"

"No matter, darling. Fire again when you need me, right?" The face of the Healer disappeared and the flames roared again until they subsided and finally died out.

Calypso came over with the boxes and vials and glasses and deposited them on the table carefully. She straightened up and said, "Well, Harold, I'll be using these to fashion for you from scratch something like what Muggles call contact lenses. Familiar with those at all?"

"Somewhat," replied Harry, appreciating the irony quietly.

Calypso went over to a wooden work desk near another corner of the room and started opening the stuff she had gathered from the Healer seconds prior. "Won't take long, yeah? Just sit tight."

"Yes, ma'am."

Calypso dragged out a large cauldron from a cupboard and lit a fire under it. "_Aguamenti_." Gallons of waters poured out from her wand and sloshed into the cauldron, after which she threw in the things ingredients from the Healer.

"I need you to spit in here for me, Harold, if you don't mind much," said Calypso, as she stirred the contents.

"Sorry?" said Harry.

"Spit, in here – need some bodily fluid. Unless you want me to cut you open and use your blood of course... or otherwise..." Her eyes sank down to his nether regions, at which point Harry's knee jerked and banged up against the table.

Still speechless, and blushing furiously, Harry hurried over to her, looked into the cauldron, up at her – she was beaming at him encouragingly – and he spit into the cauldron as discreetly as it was possible to do so, for he didn't wish to bleed again as in Voldemort's resurrection, nor did he wish to ejaculate in front of her.

"There you go," said Calypso brightly, looking satisfied as though Harry's spit was stimulating. She stirred the white bubbles of saliva into the concoction.

"How long is it gonna take exactly?" asked Harry, as he breathed with his mouth rather than his nose, for he had had experience with brewing potions, and they weren't usually a pleasant aroma such as vanilla essence.

"Oh just an hour tops, I think," said Calypso.

Harry sighed inwardly, but on the other hand we would have his vision back, so surely an hour wasn't a long time to wait. Understanding himself unnecessary anymore, he returned to his seat, where he remained, doing nothing but exploring the office with his eyes, but at the halfway mark, he had grown impatient and so had taken to physically exploring the office, or rather workroom.

"And this?" asked Harry, holding up what looked like a can with a corkscrew inside.

"I don't know, to be honest, frustrating me majorly; I think I've lost a few hairs over it. The customers wanted something that could allow them to speak to, see, and talk to their daughter over an ocean away – they came from America. You know how unreasonably demanding they can be, and they seem to have their heads in the clowns always; I mean, how am I supposed to pull all that off?"

That unreasonable imagination and demanding nature was what had led to the invention of the light bulb, not least, Harry knew, but he kept his thoughts quiet.

"But why can't they just stick to Fire-calling?" asked Harry.

Calypso snorted. "No of course they couldn't be on the same level as others. My clients, you see, are usually these stuck-up, high-nosed aristocrats and wealthy families who dote too much on their children in my opinion and have no sense of humility or an apparent ability to relate to the next human being. No, they wanted something very special and doubtlessly expensive for their precious dumplings and muffins. It seems the more they pay for something the higher they regard it. If I told them how I inflate the prices of our special products astronomically while they cost us relatively little to build..."

Harry chuckled.

"So how much did you make the Chassio for?" he asked.

Calypso gave him a swift side glance. "About seventeen Galleons. Iridius charged them a hundred and thirty for it."

Harry laughed heartily for several minutes after this.

"That's almost a thousand percent profit!"

"You telling me. Had a very nice holiday with my sister, you bet."

"So when did they order it?" Harry asked, wiping tears off his face.

"Oh when Draco was about six years old. You must know Draco Malfoy – attends Hogwarts, son of Lucius Malfoy?"

Harry nodded carefully. He thought Calypso didn't know they no longer lived.

"Yeah, it was for him – unbelievably cute, that boy was. He adored us me and Iridius."

_You mean he thought you were catching._

But a curiosity was again stoked within him. It was as though his mind yearned for anything about Draco before he knew him, to build this new Draco he hadn't known before Hogwarts.

"So they just came in and asked that you make them the Chassio?"

"Oh yeah, didn't wait in line like your friend today nearly did, but they were the high rollers, thought they were above everyone else. They have friends in high places so it's best you treat them as they want. Malfoy didn't give too much detail, just said he needed something that could alert one when someone or something with bad intentions for the owner of the Chassio came close."

Harry nodded, knowing he had been on the other end of that effect.

"What was Draco like then? I mean," he said, correcting himself, trying to rein in his burning curiosity, "how was he? Was he bratty or stuff?"

"Draco? Oh yeah, very bratty and all that, very much demanding, but you could excuse him just like that, you know." She let go of her giant spoon, sniffing her running nose, before she made a reminiscent noise. "He had the cutest way he would walk with those bent legs of his." She giggled. "Yeah, he must be grown up now. I haven't seen them since he was ten."

"And how was he then?" Harry asked.

Calypso gave him a swift side-glance. "Oh, he was more demanding of course. I think he had a thing for me, though..."

_Denial. For you and your twin._

"If he were your age, would you date him?"

"After keeping those looks of his? I would jump at it! Jump him! I read in _Witch Weekly_ he's the fourth sexiest boy in all of Britain! That must tell you everything you need to hear! I bet those Hogwarts girls must be scratching each other to get to him..."

Harry's mind immediately flew to Lavender Brown.

"If I were his age, I also wouldn't mind dating Harry Potter, you know."

Explosions of fire abounded in Harry's cheeks as he shook himself from his thoughts.

"Sorry what?"

"Harry Potter. I'd go for him too without a second word."

Harry kept quiet for some seconds.

"But why?" he asked, confused beyond anything, his mind flying through things he thought were even remotely attractive about him, but that search came to nil.

Calypso looked up from the cauldron.

"'Cause he's also hot."

Harry kept quiet.

"You don't think he's just an attention-seeking tosser?"

"Argh, no, not at all. You mustn't read these things they report about him; I've every reason to believe they were just blown up and distorted. I'm not one of those selectively gullible Thomases. That Rita woman..." She growled menacingly. "...Thank Merlin she's not writing for the _Prophet_ anymore. She cleaned him up badly. But I don't believe any of it, and I think he's quite dashing too, yeah. Don't you?"

"Er..."

Calypso laughed. "Sorry, sorry, didn't mean that!"

Harry smiled tremulously at her, now standing a little taller.

"Right, this looks to be done. It just needs to simmer." She walked away from it and stood in front of another workbench on top of which rested another strange-looking apparatus that resembled a minting tool.

Feeling fairly comfortable with her, Harry joined her.

"So what exactly do you like about Harry Potter?"

"What's that? Oh, he's just charmingly adorable, isn't he?"

Harry scowled; _I'm not adorable!_

"Shame, such a small boy with such a big heart... Merlin bless him..."

_That sounds more like it._

She adjusted some knobs on the contraption and then they chatted about other things, including politics. Harry was delighted to discover she had hated Fudge and thought he was exceedingly incompetent as he had. Then she stood up and went over to the cauldron, magicked a goblet, in which she transferred some of the potion. She strode over to him, poured it into some chute on the contraption, and a few plumes of steam, a slew of crunching and whistling sounds, and a flash of purple later, she had hovering in mid-air a pair of contact lenses.

"Right, let's try these on, won't we?" She delicately flicked her wand and the contact lenses flew to Harry's eyes and sealed themselves.

Harry couldn't help a gasp that escaped his lips.

"I—I can see properly...!" he breathed a little dazedly.

Calypso wasn't smiling, but she was frowning. "Well, that's odd."

"What is?" asked Harry, a distracted second later.

"The lenses have somehow changed your eyes to green."

Harry's mind whirred.

"Did you change your eye-colour for some reason? The lenses are impervious to Glamour Spells, you know."

"Er, yeah! My girlfriend's obsessed with blue eyes for some reason!" Harry invented wildly.

Calypso raised an eyebrow. "I would like to have a word with her. Shouldn't she appreciate you as you are?"

"Try telling her that," muttered Harry spontaneously.

"Right," said Calypso, and then she smiled sweetly. "That will be a hundred Galleons, thank you."

His vision seemed even better than before, when he had his glasses. She had done a spectacular job of it, but his gratitude wasn't so much that the price didn't ring alarmingly in his ear.

"Sorry?"

"A hundred Galleons," repeated Calypso, still smiling kindly, a hand held out.

Harry looked at it. He simply had no money.

"Draco could give you, I don't you..."

"Excuse me?" said Calypso.

"I mean—not Draco as in Draco Malfoy of course!" Harry laughed loudly. "Drake, my friend out there! I just call him Drako, it's my nickname for him!" He laughed hysterically again.

Calypso giggled at him. "I was only kidding, no need to wet your pants! I'll charge you just fourteen Galleons for them at a special price; you're very likeable."

Whether it was a hundred or fourteen Galleons, he still didn't have the money. Draco had sprung this trip to Winox Lane unexpectedly on them, and so they hadn't prepared and withdrew money from Gringotts. The prospect of merely window shopping only occurred to Harry then, but it didn't detract from his excitement for Winox Lane, especially after receiving his new contact lenses, though which might be withdrawn now...

Harry just stared at her.

Calypso's smile and her hand slowly fell. "I see, you're one of those."

"I'm not one of anything!" bleated Harry quickly, feeling horrible. "I—I—I'll just have to dash to Gringotts..." But he remembered that Hagrid had his key, which meant he had to go all the way back to Hogwarts for it.

"Oh no, we've got a P. P. P. here just outside," said Calypso, looking relieved, though there was a hardness and a certain courteous and business-like dispassion to her eyes that hadn't been there before. It was as though they hadn't connected by their prior conversations at all.

"Sorry?"

"Oh, a portal pay point – the goblin outside there?"

"Oh," said Harry, who had wondered what said goblin was doing in a specialist shop.

"You just need your key."

Which he didn't have; Harry looked up at her helplessly. But Draco surely must have prepared for this, since he was the one who brought him here.

"Right, my friends outside..."

Calypso nodded curtly as she turned back to the contraption before her, of which she pressed a button and after the steam, noise, and the flash another pair of contact lenses popped out, for which she magicked a container and handed to Harry before sweeping out of the room.

"Bloody fuckin' hell, what took so long?" growled Ron, as he stood up and came over towards the counter, forgetting himself in his annoyance.

"Watch your mouth, Ron," remonstrated Hermione tersely, before she looked at Harry, and she quite suddenly stopped in her tracks, her eyes grew wide, and her jaw dropped. Harry's eyes subsequently flew to Draco, whose hand shot out to steady him with the countertop as he stared. Harry looked at Seamus – his mouth was also slightly open and he seemed unable to move.

"Can you finally see?" asked Dean.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I can, crystal clear," he replied, and then turned to Draco. "Draco—I mean, Drake! We need--" He jerked his head discreetly towards Calypso standing behind him with an expression of business-like expectation. "--to pay her," he mouthed.

But Draco didn't seem capable of moving either. His eyes were fastened upon Harry's, looking captured.

"Drake," said Harry.

Draco shook his head, swallowing. "Yes—yes—yes—er—yes—um, yes, to pay, to pay..." His legs stuttered over to the goblin behind Calypso. The goblin's shrewd eyes narrowed at them, before, after some words from Calypso, he jumped off the stool, open the cupboard door, and went through with them. The door closed behind Draco.

Harry frowned; that was rather strange.

"Blimey, Harry..." said Seamus in a quiet voice.

"What's the matter?"

"Your eyes... they're beautiful..."

Harry failed to stave off an incoming blush, and so his cheeks turned red as his eyes found Hermione again, who still seemed incapable of looking away from him, her gaze fastened to his sparkling green eyes.

"But why did they turn back to green?" she asked in a low, breathy voice.

"The contact lenses are impervious to Glamours," answered Harry.

Hermione nodded vaguely and belatedly.

Seconds later, Draco emerged from the door with the goblin and Calypso as he stowed a black satin sack into his robes.

"Thank you," said Draco curtly to Calypso.

"Oh no problem, please visit again!"

They went out of the shop and stepped into the sun beaming down on Winox Lane. They took off down the block.

The place was so amazing, Harry was turning his head this way and that, putting his new eyes to good use, absorbing everything he could, his mouth hanging interminably open. The buildings themselves were fascinating, one of which looked like a white accordion extended on its side, and there hung a name on its front: the Aula Towers.

"So where are we heading to?" asked Seamus, before Harry could enquire about said building.

"Um, let's see," said Draco. "I fancy some ice-cream, don't you, Harry?"

"What? Oh, yeah, sure."

They wound through many weird and wonderful shops (by weird as in they found a shop mentioned in _Useless Magic_ called Dorothy's Doxy Dopers: Specializing in the Extermination of Doxys, Cornish Pixies & Rather Timid Ventures) to come to one bearing the title The Creamy Cauldron. The expansive breadth of the shop, which spanned the whole block, was by the mere virtue of the long line of tanks stretching from one end of the shop to the other, laden with a plethora of colourful ice creams. Florean Fortescue would have blushed for claiming his ice-cream parlour impressive in front of The Creamy Cauldron. They emerged from the shop and headed for another, Harry licking on his Chummy-Choc Mint and Draco on a Berrylicious Blizzard.

They ambled happily until there just had to be a bookshop to sprout before them which Hermione of course latched onto and claimed passing it by would be an atrocity of gigantic proportions. Draco bought some books from Coverdale's Bookstore for her, and soon enough they were on their way to yet another red shop which looked like some Chinese temple bearing the sign above Royal Magical Menagerie. Ron was distinctly reluctant to enter.

"I'm sure they won't sell something as vile as spiders," said Hermione, as she pulled on his arm.

A myriad of colourful animals met their eyes.

Ron squirmed and mewled fearfully when they approached two albino pythons of unnaturally giant proportions. Its glass cage alone, which Draco was approaching as naturally as though he regularly hung around snakes, was the size of a holding cell.

"Draco, you sure you want to get that close?" began Seamus, cringing. "What if it...?"

"Somehow breaks the glass and constricts him?" finished Dean, with a twitch of his lips.

Meanwhile, Draco stared at the yellow-white pythons, their lengths incalculable, their tails nowhere to be seen, caught up in the pond, rocks, barks, and lush greenery.

"I wanted him when I was younger. He wasn't this massive by then, but Mother wouldn't hear of it either way, and Father... _'...As slight as you are, you would make an easy meal, Draco. Best not tempt nature – it can turn merciless if it so wishes.'_"

"You wanted a snake as a pet?" asked Harry incredulously. He knew Draco was Slytherin at heart, but this was utterly ridiculous, wishing for a pet python as a child.

"Come on," Draco said, as he swept off towards the door, and they all followed. "I've got a surprise for you!" he said with a wide grin at Harry.

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

They ran joyfully across the town and entered another shop called Adelaide's Apothecary, in which Hermione bought potion ingredients largely for Healing Potions.

"Can't see us not needing them somewhere along the line," she remarked morbidly.

But her mood along with theirs lightened when they went into another store called Wrigley's Wand Works, the allusion to which Harry remembered from _The Hogwarts Howler_.

"Ooh! I don't know what to choose!" squealed Hermione, as she looked up at the menu overhead at the many tattoos and motifs that could be applied to wands. "Okay, okay!" she rapped, when the withered shop owner took a step out from behind the counter, clearly at the end of his tether. "I'll take the Spring and Cuddles one!" she said excitedly, and so her wand was chiselled in motifs of flowers and teddy bears. Seamus and Dean rather opted for impermanent embellishments on their wands, such as some Snitch stickers and colours which the shop owner promised wore off. Harry and Draco declined any modifications on their wands.

Afterwards, they continued weaving through Winox Lane. They turned into Glamorgan Avenue and as they passed a clothe shop, Draco said, "Wuchoutzi Witchwear – mother shopped here most of the time, and sometimes in here--" He pointed at the largest clothes shop. "--Houdani – unisex, best fitters in the world... And then Father shopped here for clothes most of the time..." They entered the store, passing under the sign, 'Ferlucci Wizardwear'. "...I think it's time all of you got a makeover – your wardrobes are atrociously drab."

They emerged from the shop an hour and a half later with new stylish robes to boast. A most favourite number for Draco had been the emerald silk robe and nightwear set he had bought for Harry, which matched his beautiful eyes. Draco, Hermione, and Seamus had been possessed by that staring thing at Harry all over again.

"It's like I could lose myself in them..." said Seamus dreamily, as he held a hand to his heart and stared into Harry's eyes while fitting on that emerald robe. Dean had been a little snappish for some reason thereafter, but all was forgiven when they came across another shop on Hestony Street. This one was the hugest they had seen.

"Come on!" said Draco excitedly, as he took Harry by the hand, hurrying up. "This was the surprise!"

All the boys save Draco gave long, deep gasps when they passed under the name of the store blaring loudly on its wall above: Quasimodo's Quidditch Centre – Quench Thy Quidditch Thirst.

It was like a Disney World, but just for Quidditch.

There were two long aisles on either of their sides that lead into the shop. Various things were shoved in their hands, including more ice-cream bathed in luxurious dollops of quiddany, quiche pies, and Bludge Bars. There were also Snitchets to be collected, chocolate balls (rather like cutie pies) shaped into Golden Snitches, or as the seller said, an extremely fast and agile little bird called a Snitchet, on which the Golden Snitch was apparently modelled. Other paraphernalia and accessories were heaped on them as they progressed down the aisles, until they reached further into the room, where there milled a large throng comprising largely of young boys, while the parents and sisters stood aside.

"Come on, come on!" panted Draco, pulling Harry as he pushed through the thicket of boys, until they got to the front, and there, in the very centre of the room, guarded by two young men in black robes akin to junior Aurors, if they existed, and reposed upon a glass stand, was the most beautiful broom that had ever graced Harry's eyes.

NIMBUS GK2.0 CONCEPT

"...Hold yourself, hold yourself now!" trilled the curator excitedly, with a big, teasing smile, looking quite smug and proud of the artefact he was displaying.

"The Nimbus GK 2.0 Concept comes standard with a new manoeuvre-improving feature from Nimbus Brooms Inc.! TruGlide®. v1.0! And with an acceleration of 250 km/h and a top speed of 449 km/h, well, by the gods you will be chasing the sunrays! Order yours today!"

"How much is it?" asked one boy, hopping on his feet, as he looked over to his parents, who looked at the curator warily, looking ready to wince.

The curator's beaming face didn't falter at all. "Are you placing an order?"

"No, but how much?" asked the boy persistently.

"Well, if you're asking for the price that's clearly an indication enough, isn't it?"

The parents of the boy walked off at once, while the boy's shoulders sagged.

"Price upon request! Price upon request!"

The curator went on to talk more about the broom. At regular intervals Ron kept saying, "Shut your face!" though his expression demanded him to keep doing quite the opposite, which the curator gladly did.

"Did I forget to mention the new VirtuaSwerV® feature also built into the Nimbus GK 2.0?"

Harry's and Ron's eyes met each other – almost palpable lust was exchanged between, and it was more than possible that both knew where Harry was headed to when they would exit the shop.

Hermione looked over the books Draco had bought for her, shaking her head at regular intervals, and she looked up to see all the boys being positively hypnotised by the curator's lips, for none of whom moved in the slightest while they breathed deeply and quietly as though listening to a soul-replenishing sermon. Harry's heart was thundering inside his chest, pumping gallons of re-ascending passion back into his Quidditch-gluttonous veins (a sin of which he was quite content to be forever guilty). It was burning so hot in his chest that it seemed to pain him physically to think about how far Gringotts was at the moment.

He was suspended; for Harry there was only a tunnel vacuum between him and Gringotts that he had to traverse – all other thoughts and cares in the world were suspended, including whatever the most severe and withering threats Hermione could hurl at him to stop him.

He wasn't alone – Ron, Dean, and Seamus appeared quite prepared to risk Hermione's wrath if it meant taking something like a Nimbus GK2 broomstick home. All the while, thoughts were flying through Harry's head, most prominently everything that the beautiful curator was saying about the broomstick. Quench Thy Quidditch Thirst indeed, and nobody was going to stop him from doing just that.

But he first had to go back to Hogwarts to find Hagrid with his key, for he didn't even want to contemplate Draco buying it for him.

"I'll take five, please," announced Draco, whereupon the entire shop fell silent at once.

With a lingering grin, the curator stared down at Draco. "I began your pardon?" he said, with a little laugh.

"I would like five of those brooms, please."

Ron's, Dean's, Seamus', and Harry's jaws fell and clattered noisily on the floor.

The curator continued to stare at Draco with that grin still plastered on his face. "I don't understand."

"I – would – like – five – Nimbus' – please," repeated Draco very slowly, as though he were addressing a severely talentless child.

Everyone looked gobsmacked in that room. There was no cacophony of cheers and gabble from the young boys, nor from the sellers along the aisles, and their arms were suspended in mid-air as they were about to stuff their merchandise into customers' arms.

"F—five?" croaked the curator, adjusting his robes and taking a deep once-over on Draco, clearly trying very hard to recognize him.

"Yes, five, for myself and my friends here. She on the other hand doesn't have the Quidditch spirit much, see."

After a long while perhaps of contemplating Draco's plain confidence, which looked profoundly hard to doubt, the curator slowly turned around on the spot, though his eyes never left Draco's, and he called over one of the young gentlemen guarding the broom on displaying. He muttered something in his ear, and then the guard nodded and disappeared behind the store with his partner. Seconds later, they emerged with four brand new brooms in their arms wrapped with brown paper to the accompaniment of gasps of awe from the whole shop.

Draco stared expectantly at the brooms, while the boys ogled at them. "That's four."

"Er... yes..." said the curator, looking a little dazed and disorientated. "Well, I thought you would like to take the demo one home. Consider it a special gift from Nimbus."

"Oh, thank you, then," said Draco curtly, stepping onto the platform and crossing him arms, giving the broom reposed upon the glass stand a brief glance.

Rather than Draco's lack of reverence for the new Nimbus GK 2.0 Concept Broom being irksome, Harry found it amazing and quite sexy.

"It is no problem at all! Er... how would you like to... er... pay for it...?" asked the curator, swallowing and looking hesitant as though he really didn't expect Draco to pay after all.

"Blood."

No doubt the black satin sack of Galleons in his robes wouldn't suffice.

"Ah yes, no of course, of course!" fluttered the curator breathily, as he took the displayed broom off the glass stand and reared it. "I had suspected all this time! Yes, a noble family... It could only be, yes... Er, McQuivey Sidebottom is I, sir," he gasped, as he all but stooped low to offer his hand, which Draco shook with that classy tentativeness; he seemed to be in his element, while the curator appeared to have made a complete U-turn in his demeanour altogether from harmlessly and duly boastful to comically obsequious and oily.

"Draco Mal—Drake Malibu! Drake Malibu!" amended Draco hurriedly, blanching.

Something of a frown flickered in the curator's face for a moment but next second he was fawning all over Draco again and muttering discreet superlatives of thinly veiled and rather rehearsed-sounding praise.

"So I shall just dash to Quasimodo and alert him of this... grand purchase; I think we'll be finding him at The Three Broomsticks not before long."

Draco smirked tremulously as the curator floated off with a ringing bark of laughter.

The junior Aurors handed Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Harry their new broomsticks, which they took with numb hands.

Harry simply couldn't believe it.

Ron nearly dropped his own broom as he jumped on Draco and kissed him deeply, much to the astonishment of the crowd. Several parents covered their children's eyes and some hissed.

"Weasley!" shouted Draco, as he tried to fight him off. "I mean Beasley!"

"Sorry, Drake," breathed Ron, looking anything but, as he drew back while his chest rose and fell deeply, his hands actually trembling considerably as they held his broom. "But you have no clue, years and years of gawking at things like this from so far, and now... Fred and George won't know what him them... I'm sorry for being the arse that I was..." And this began Ron's longwinded speech of repentance for every wrong he had made against Draco, so powerful was the broom's effect on him.

"Yeah, yeah, bloody hell, get a hold of yourself and shut your trap, will you?" muttered Draco irritably, even as his cheeks glowed pink.

Shortly after, Draco made the payment by merely leaving his signature (Quasimodo and the curator frowned) and a drop of his blood on a piece of ordinary-seeming parchment, and the guards allowed them to leave the shop with their new brooms, the other shoppers making way for them without prompt.

Harry was also spouting endless proclamations of love and gratitude at Draco right after Ron's humble contrition. Seamus was next to follower, meting out extraordinary promises and litanies of compliments on Draco's humility.

"Okay, we get it!" snapped Hermione, cutting Seamus short when he was enumerating Draco's most striking features. "It's just a broom, for goodness' sake!"

The boys took immediate umbrage.

"I'm rather thirty – why don't we go for some Hogsy?" proposed Draco, though Harry thought he had grown tired of their praises and disabusing Hermione and wanted to shut them up with drinks.

"I didn't know The Three Broomsticks offered Hogsy," said Seamus, who was still red in the face after he had along with the other boys berated (on the verge of deriding) Hermione on her lack of respect for the brooms. Hermione herself looked quite humbled.

Draco snorted. "As if I would be caught dead in that commoners' place. No, we're going to The Golden Tap."

"Not a fan of Hogsy much," muttered Harry.

"You'll choose whatever else, then," replied Draco.

Harry was surprised there was a menu in the first place, for there was only Firewhisky and butter beer on offer in The Three Broomsticks.

On their way to The Golden Tap, they explored more of Winox Lane. A block after Prince's Park, there was a whole street dedicated to selling wonderful and exotic merchandise called The Arc, for above them there were several arcs shredding the afternoon sunlight beating down at them. They played some ancient games in Archie's Arcade and passed by a toy shop called Prewett & Packard Games and bought some new Snitch discs (with new features such as Self-Play, Self-Spin, and Self-Mix – basically the Snitch discs were given a conscience), a board game called Woozoo, a glass wizard chess set, and a card game called Catch that Snitch! which had nothing to do with Quidditch.

They emerged from The Arc laden with bags of goodies. Harry felt a negligible twinge of compunction to see a bevy of shabby-looking boys slouching on a nearby wall, mirthless, bereft of such pleasures of life, but positively thirsty enough to even consider a glass of Hogsy now, he panted ahead with his bag. There was only so much Shrinking Spells could do. A lot of goodies were already stuffed in his robes, and he was carrying the surplus.

"That drink sounds good right about now," bleated Harry, resisting glaring up at the sun for its presence, for it undoubtedly would have glared back at him a thousand times more powerfully.

"Can't wait to fly this thing, I so bloody fuckin' can't wait!" breathed Seamus, juggling his broom gingerly in his arm.

"You're telling me!" enthused Ron. "I'm pissing in my pants!"

"I rather thought this whole excursion was a waste of time," sniffed Hermione, though she adjusted her books as she spoke. "It just needlessly put us in danger."

"We've our disguises on, don't we? They aren't dripping off, are they?" drawled Ron exasperatedly.

"How far is it to that Golden Tap, Draco?" asked Harry, panting a little.

"IT'S THEM! HE SAID DRACO! IT'S THEM!"

Pandemonium ensued.

Purple spell-light exploded from nowhere.

Harry spun around to see Massice's face of crazy delight and desperation light up as he sent a spell his way; Harry sacrificed the Catch that Snitch! game set, which caught the spell and exploded in front of his face as the hairs on the back of his neck rose. The others dropped their luggage as well and whipped out their wands.

"_Stupefy!_" yelled Harry, to match Massice's second Dark spell, and they met halfway with an explosion of light and energy. Harry flicked his wand sideway and the connected spells spilled over to an equally shabbily dressed Warrington, who defended himself with a spell to combine with it, and so three spells of blue and yellow and purple sparkled blindingly in the afternoon sun. Hermione and Ron were duelling Carrow in dull, dusty robes, while Draco battled a hobo-like Blaise Zabini. Dean and Seamus tried to attack Massice and Warrington a piece to assist, but the former caught their spells into the combination and soon five spells were combined and raging loudly. Harry felt an inextricable pull in his arm, but with an almighty effort, he wrenched his wand upwards and there followed a whistling noise as the sphere of light and energy drew into itself and formed a thick, swirling mist.

Harry shot a spell blindly through the clearing mist, but there was a clinking noise before he barely dodged a purple spell sent his way.

"The brooms!" shouted Ron, repelling a curse from Carrow, as Hermione sent one to him.

Harry promptly lunged for his broom, tore off the wrappings, but then he looked up to see Draco in a furious duel with Blaise, whose dirty robes were on the ground, revealing classy ones. Draco spun around flamboyantly and swung his wand upwards, sending a spell the likes of which Harry had never seen before and which actually sliced the ground as it travelled in a thin sparkle towards Blaise, who also spun around and cut his wand through the air horizontally, slashing Draco's purple dome in half and dissolving it into thin air, but Draco was already performing a complicated wand movement and a moment later there was a sound of a vacuum cleaner and Blaise was falling on his back but quickly muttered something and cushioned his fall to shoot a blizzard of dust at Draco, who whirled his wand swiftly and repelled it.

For a moment, Harry was nearly caught up in just the gracefulness of the duel, but when a red spell slashed the sleeve of his robe, he sprung to his feet and yelled, "_Expelliarmus!_" He all of a sudden found himself a world away from the level of magical prowess with which Draco and Blaise were duelling, but he found comfort in that not even the other Slytherins knew such spells or moves.

Hermione tore herself away from the fray, aimed her wand at the brooms, which promptly rose and divested their wrappings, hovering in mid-air.

"How the bloody fuck did they find us?" yelled Harry furiously, shooting spell after spell at Massice, who looked far from giggling or looking crazily delighted – there was raw desperation in every line of his body, as was the case for Warrington and Carrow.

People were screaming and running away, while some strollers hung around and watched from afar.

Blaise and Draco were duelling furiously, thrashing around wildly as they shot spells at each other. Sweating dripping from his brow, Draco heaved his whole arm and swung it, sending another spell Blaise's way; Blaise jumped aside and shot a green spell at Draco, who barely repelled it and staggered on his feet, and Blaise tried to capitalize and shot another spell, but Draco recovered himself and started darting around agilely. Seamus had also withdrawn from the frontline and with Hermione boarded a broom, with which he flew off the ground with mind-boggling speed before he could bring it under a semblance of control. He mistakenly jerked about in front of Draco's line of vision, and consequently Draco couldn't see Blaise for a moment, but that was all it took to catch a spell on his arm and stumble to the ground, groaning.

Hermione screamed as the Nimbus took her off the ground. "Ron! Come on!"

Blaise pelted over to Draco with a quietly hungry expression, but when Harry caught sight of him and Draco scrunching his face on the floor, something rose within him, and just before Blaise raised his wand there was a sucking, whistling noise and a giant jet of green fire made him jump backwards.

Draco took the brief respite to search for something from within his robe.

Seeing that Ron and Dean were handling Massice and Carrow, Harry sprinted over to Draco.

"What happened? What are you doing?"

"The Portkey! The Portkey!" rapped Draco urgently, searching himself wildly, but at that moment there was a zooming noise and five figures appeared before them, the tallest of which slashed his wand viciously through the air and with his spell knocked the breath out of Harry and set him on his back on the ground.

"Harry!" screamed Draco.

"It's them, all right!" boomed the tall figure, with a square face and cold, dark-blue eyes.

Seeing the odds reversed upon them so starkly from six on four, Ron and Dean retreated and hastily jumped onto their brooms, toys and games scattered on the floor, but they were hit with spells before they could gain even an inch in altitude and dropped to the ground.

"Shoot that crazy Mudblood down!" roared Fauss, as he stomped over to Harry and Draco, apparently deeming dealing with Hermione himself beneath him.

It took some cunning to shoot down two figures whizzing about on brooms with a top speed of 449 km/h, but eventually the broom exploded in mid-air and Hermione and Seamus spiralled towards the earth to be caught by another figure in Hogwarts school robes, though Seamus' fall was cushioned to the ground.

Draco yelled, "_Confringo Malavera!_" as he pulled out of his robes a long metallic turquoise quill, but Fauss and two other figures overpowered him.

"What's this? Portkey?" mocked Fauss. "Won't be needing that one, will we?" He set fire to the quill and it shrivelled into nothingness.

Draco let out a strange noise of despair.

"Come on, come on, gather around!" bellowed Fauss at the others. "Ain't got time to waste here!"

Harry coughed as he was hauled roughly to his feet, the back of hair covered in dust.

"Just need to make sure," breathed Fauss, as he held Draco roughly and aimed his wand at him, muttering something, whereupon white-blond hair flashed to replace the golden blond for a moment. "It's him!"

Some of the new figures, whom Harry recognized as those who had killed Draco's parents, celebrated with boisterous cheers of joy.

"And this must be Potter," hissed Fauss, glaring at him. "Can't bear to even stand away from each other... I know those eyes..."

But he nevertheless waved his wand, and for a moment Harry's straw-blond hair rippled jet black and his freckles lifted.

"Yeah, it's the Golden Trio, all right," said Fauss happily, "with attachments," he added, as he slapped Seamus. "How the fuck did you find them?" he demanded of Massice, Carrow, Warrington, and Blaise, all of whom subsequently cowered with some degree of exaggeration.

"They were at Hogwarts like we expected," answered Carrow, not meeting Fauss' eye, though he very much looked like we would love to. "The portraits – dragged it out of them – they saw them disappear off the third floor with a Portkey after talking about this place."

Fauss removed his glare from him and directed it at Harry. "Now you sit tight, you hear?" he growled, and he then produced a mouth piece, strangely. "The Dark Lord will be so pleased," he purred, giving Harry a horrible, chilling smile. "Gather around, and grab those fancy brooms of theirs," he commanded, with a greedy glint in his eyes, no doubt picking out which was his. He grabbed Harry and held him tightly to his chest, but when Harry proved disagreeable, he warned, "You don't want me to Incarcerate you, do you?"

Harry thrashed about even more wildly.

"_Incarcerus_," growled Fauss impatiently, at which point every other figure imitated him like puppets and Incarcerated Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, and Draco. "Right... WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?" boomed Fauss to the rest of the onlookers, who appeared scandalized into inaction that such violence had broken out on Winox Lane, but then Fauss muttered, "Shit!" when he spotted the two junior Aurors from the Quidditch shop hurtling towards them.

"Let's go!" he yelled at his companions, whereupon they all took out even stranger-looking objects and redoubled their holds on them, and a moment later just before a streak of red could touch them from the Aurors, Harry was hurtling through a colourful kaleidoscope of blurring structures and whipping scenery, and he soon found himself restrained facing a familiar graveyard, but he was spun around viciously and in front him was a tall, rusted gate, beyond which stood another familiar structure – Riddle Manor.


	7. Riddle Manor

**Chapter 7**

**Riddle Manor**

"Not so glamorous like Malfoy Manor, eh, Malfoy?" sneered Fauss, looking around the manor on behalf of them, it seemed, though as they past the tall, rusted gates into the property, he appeared to know the place as he did the feel of his wand in his hand.

On either sides of the pathway on which they approached the dilapidated-looking manor in front of them sprawled unsightly stretches of weeds, and in even less instances, weed-riddled vegetation; right from these to the broken and boarded windows, they sent odd chills down Harry's spine.

As they approached the front of the manor, the afternoon seemed to wane; the sun seemed to cower behind the clouds, for, and Harry was open to the chance it might be his mind playing with him, the air grew just a little darker; a strange shade engulfed them as they climbed the stairs onto the patio, after which Fauss throttled Harry as he dragged him towards a huge, two-part door. They immediately parted ways after Fauss raised his left arm, and they went through and entered the Riddle Manor.

Afternoon though it had clearly been outside, the area they were in was almost as dark as midnight. Harry heard Hermione's growls and noises of struggle muffled and ultimately smothered. He couldn't look behind, for Fauss' broad chest was forbidding and Fauss' his grip on him unassailable.

While stalking ahead of wherever, lanterns suddenly spluttered to life and threw eerie patches of light whose radiance did not reach the normal extents of that of normal light, as though the darkness was opposing the light, as though it were stronger than the light itself and reduced it to that small patch, hence, Harry suspected, why there were so many lanterns along the dark, slightly grimy walls, which bore strong suggestions that they had been even grimier before but perhaps worked upon for liveable occupation. But none of these things had registered in comparison with the graveyard by Harry, for it was at that graveyard that he had witnessed Voldemort reborn no more than four months ago.

"Home sweet home, Potter," said Fauss, looking around as they walked through the hallway. "Best you get used to it – you'll be having quite a long stay here, hm?" He rattled Harry slightly, who then heard a few following scuffles behind him which again he couldn't see and which were quickly dealt with; he subsequently heard a soft, dense thump and then a sharp exhalation preceding a hiss; he thought one of Fauss' lackeys may have hit either Ron, Dean, or Seamus, or perhaps even Draco. Harry was trying really hard to keep his cool, but his heart was pumping madly; his fear was threatening to get the better of him.

They proceeded through the long hallway as more lanterns burst into light, down a long, spiral flight of stairs as it grew darker and darker, until Harry couldn't see his feet when they reached the bottom, whereupon Fauss took off with him to the left, new lanterns spilling feeble light as they progressed into what then looked akin to a dungeon, if Harry ever saw one. There was another sharp exhalation behind him, though this time he couldn't tell from whom it came. The wild passageway, whose darkness also felt unnaturally dense, widened shortly into an open broad area with two curvaceous forks leading left and right to two flights of stairs, one ascending, and one going further down. In front of them stretched a tall circular wall bearing a large iron door, to where Fauss dragged him and directed the rest.

Hugely built though Fauss was, he struggled to open the foreboding iron doors, but soon enough, after applying learnt strategies, it seemed, which hinted Fauss was no novice in the dungeons, the doors groaned and growled as they slowly crawled away from each other and revealed a very large, arena-sized circular room within hosting some grimy and gaunt-looking cages. Torches lit one by one across the circular wall.

A thick smell Harry couldn't immediately place hit his nose as he heard a sharp gasp behind which he was sure came from Hermione now, and he couldn't blame her; it was not an appealing sight, and he was equally certain they would have to get used to it.

"In you go, then," commanded Fauss, as he finally let go of Harry and pushed him roughly ahead. The others were released as well, letting them pool beside each other and allowing Harry to catch by the dim light a bruise on Ron's cheek before he looked back at Fauss and friends.

Fauss simply pointed at the cage at the wall behind them.

Harry glared at the nine boys in front of them, but he simply couldn't find a way out of this.

"In the cage, Potter and party," ordered Fauss. "Surely you're not thinking of taking us on."

It was nine on six – it was foolish at best. Harry sought out the weakest-looking boy in the pack, who was Massice, but who also looked crazy enough to be capable of almost anything, though Harry noticed there was no more of that desperation in his face, as well that there was also an unassailable look of satisfaction on Warrington's beneath his blank visage; they had been captured – it was what they wanted in all probability. Harry wondered with what Voldemort had threatened them to get them to go to such lengths to do so.

"Where's your old little master?" asked Harry.

"Harry," whispered Hermione, with some amount of frustrated exasperation, "we so do not need this right now. Just lay off, please, for once in your life..." Harry rather thought she was thinking of Ron.

When no answer came from the boys in front of him – all Hogwarts students – Harry asked again, "Where's Voldemort?"

While a wince rippled along the rest of the boys, Fauss' face contorted with fury.

"As foul-mouthed and worthless and disrespectful as always, aren't you, Potter? Think you so brave, do you? I don't think you enjoyed enough my little Cruciatus Curse on you a few weeks back; would you like another taste of it?"

"I've had my fair share of those, thanks," replied Harry, "although Voldemort's pales in comparison with yours."

"What was that?" asked Fauss, after a second, his brow so severely furrowed it looked like a corrugated sheet of zinc.

"Your boss – his curse is nothing compared to yours."

"Harry, are you really doing this...?" whispered Hermione vaguely, with her mouth hanging open at Harry. "I don't think flattery will really get us anywhere, no less out of this situation..."

Fauss was frowning heavily at Harry.

"Are you trying to get in my head, Potter?" asked Fauss, in a deadly quiet voice as the hay underneath his feet crunched louder the closer he came.

Harry shook his head, keeping his gaze on Fauss.

"I'm just saying what it is."

Fauss slowly prowled over, his cold, smalt eyes narrowed upon Harry.

"What are you playing at, Potter?" hissed Fauss, still coming closer.

Hermione made a strangled noise of disbelief.

"Nothing. Can't you Slytherins just take a compliment for what it is?"

Fauss moved with a speed that wasn't befitting of his bulk as his hand clamped around Harry's neck, where which Harry's hands flew, struggling for a sliver of breath. When Ron and Dean headed for Fauss, knuckles were cracked and wands were raised, and so they halted.

"Don't get smart with me, Potter, you here? I'm not as dumb as you obviously think I am. You're going to be a good little sport and tell these gutterlings of yours to back up in that cage right now, do you hear me, Potter?"

Harry struggled breathlessly in Fauss' grasp for some few seconds before his eyes started turning red and he was in desperate need of breath; his head jerked aside either way, whereupon Fauss – after some teasing, inhumane seconds later in which the blood vessels in Harry's eyes neared to burst – released Harry, who collapsed to the floor and drew in great amounts of air, sending a horrible, wheezy, rattling noise ringing along the grimy dungeon walls scarcely different from that of a Dementor.

"Learn to shut your trap and what's good for you. In the cages you go," Fauss ordered all of them, while Harry glared up at Fauss from the ground as he caressed his neck. Ron tried to help Harry up, but Harry ripped himself from his grip and came to both feet on his own.

"Oh and I so nearly forgot," said Fauss, smiling into Harry's face, which was positively radiating hatred, "your wands."

This was something Harry hadn't expected in a million light-years.

No one responded to these words for a full ten seconds.

"Wands, now," repeated Fauss, flapping his open hand.

Every eye turned to Harry to see what he was going to do.

"What's the use?" he growled. "You've got us down here, don't you? It's not as if we could do anything to escape."

"How cunningly deceptive," drawled Fauss, clearly of the opposite opinion. "Wands – now."

He somewhat knew their way in – he just had to reverse the path to get out...

Fauss received his wish as a wand flashed into view and a split second later Fauss was growling to the floor; eight spells instantly flew through the air, but they missed their targets, whereupon the four other boys and Hermione whipped out their own wands and began duelling with the Slytherins.

It was quite true six on nine was foolish and that Fauss and team were winning, as Seamus and Hermione were already on the floor suffering burns, but what happened next could be described as eerie: as their furiously discharged spells flew into the air towards the other, they simply fizzled into nothingnesss, extinguished like mere candles.

Harry caught a look of surprise Fauss and the other Slytherins were too slow to hide. As recently as the dungeon room was filled with roars and the sparkling of spells, now it had become quite silent.

Fauss shouted, "_Crucio!_" and the brilliantly orange spell duly blasted out from his wand, yet it failed to complete its trajectory, for less than halfway towards Harry, the spell simply went out and was softly erased from their sight with not even as much fanfare as a puff of smoke.

Despite themselves, everyone in that dungeon looked up at the small-seeming gauzed ceiling at the same time before returning their eyes to each and reasserting their wands, which now, however, seemed more useless than the twigs they were, than gills in air, or perhaps more useless than Harry's _Useless Magic _book, though that may be a gross compliment.

"Well, there you have it," said Fauss, who apparently had decided it futile to hide the fact that they hadn't anticipated what had just happened in the slightest. "The Dark Lord probably thought you'd try and get smart like this, and he was right – he's always right like that. Give me those wands, come on, or do you want me to come over there?"

Harry furtively looked around him at Ron, Dean, Seamus, Draco, and Hermione, who were looking back at him as though he were their leader, as though awaiting his orders.

Harry gave Fauss the dirtiest look he could manage before he dropped his wand below in front of him.

Fauss narrowed his eyes thickly at him.

Four more wands landed softly on the hay beside Harry's to be joined a second later by Draco's after he gave Harry an incredulous, sidelong look.

Fauss gave them all a brief, sharp, thick look of compact contempt; Harry thought Fauss would have loved to use the spell Dumbledore had to collect the wands of the four of the boys standing behind him. After a while, Fauss then stalked over and slowly picked up each wand, leaving the middle one for last, and when he finally closed his large hand around Harry's, he straightened up slowly, his eyes travelling from Harry's foot and slowly up his body until they locked onto Harry's own eyes and beamed that thick, compacted hatred into them. Fauss then straightened his shoulders with a few bone cracks, exhaled slowly, and then said, "Behave well, won't you, little kids?" He was responded to with several death glares and a few even dirtier looks, but Fauss composedly pointed at the cage over Harry's shoulder again. "In. We on the other hand have very pleasant news to report to some people."

Harry and Fauss engaged in another battles of glares before Harry slowly turned towards the large rectangular cage in the back of the circular room. He looked up to gauze wiring just under a slate circular ceiling, but he followed his orders and rattled the lock of the cage, which unfortunately clicked open at his touch and allowed him inside. He, Ron, Dean, Seamus, Draco, and Hermione stood there behind bars, glowering at the boys jeering at them, though Fauss, Warrington, Carrow, Massice, and Blaise did not do so.

"Oh and just one more thing," said Fauss, hanging on the one sliding door, smirking at them all. "Thanks for the brooms." He pushed the large, iron doors towards each other, and they exited the circular dungeon room, Blaise not sparing the slightest glance at least in Draco's direction, as though he hadn't fought the werewolves beside them... Then again, he hadn't after all – he had only run away from them beside the DA...

Ron swore at the door with just the expression of his face before he kicked at the hay.

"Oh!" growled Hermione, wringing on the iron bars in frustration, her singed and blackened brunette hair vibrating. "Cannot believe that just happened! I just _knew_ something like this was GOING TO HAPPEN! AND IT'S YOUR FAULT!"

"Me?" squawked Draco at Hermione, who appeared beyond reason. "I wanted to do a good thing and get Harry's sight back to him! But of course we shouldn't have done that, should've we? Because guess what, that is not what friends hope for their friends!"

"Of course I've always wanted Harry to get his sight back, no one can question that, but it did not have to be this way!" argued Hermione. "We could have planned that outing more carefully! But oh so dearly concerned were you about your precious Harry you just had to do that favour for him today! You thought you had the unquestionable right to do that for him as the first only real meaningful thing you've done for him since you two got together, after he had done a world much more for you! And look where it got us, huh?" She wrung the iron bars again indicatively.

Draco glared at her, but he seemed short for words.

"Hermione, Draco, there's no use fighting over this now," said Ron tiredly, throwing himself carelessly on the hay-strewn floor as though they were livestock.

The mechanical smell of grime and aging steel sickened Harry to his stomach, which he thought just did a small flip. He too dropped himself onto the hay and rested his head against the wall no matter how dirty it was.

"And this is what I get for being kind, for wanting what's best for Harry," said Draco, as though he felt that his first foray into humility wasn't treated with the recognition and significance it deserved.

"The question is not the motivation behind what you did," replied Hermione testily, "but how you went about doing it. Did you consult me? Did you say, 'Hermione, this is what I'm planning to do, but you have to still keep a secret from anyone because I want to surprise Harry'. All it needed was proper planning! Now look where we are!"

"We agreed to it, if you conveniently forgot," interjected Seamus flatly.

Hermione gave Seamus a look that made him take half a step backwards.

"That we did," agreed Ron sadly. "It wasn't his fault, Hermione, just lay off." A haunted look then flashed across his face, and Harry rather thought he was thinking about the Nimbus brooms removed from their sight, not to mention their hands. For Harry, though he had touched and carried the Nimbus GK2.0 with his own hands, it seemed to have all been a dream, too good to be true, and so he found himself rather longing for his old Firebolt more than he did the Nimbus.

"And those people! They just stood there and gawked at us while we were being attacked!"

"That's high society for you," snorted Draco emotionlessly, "exceedingly prissy to the point that when something unlikely occurs they would rather take to gaping and having heart attacks and discussing its vulgarity than lift their own hands, which they've got elves for to do it for them."

"And you!" she yelled, now rounding on Harry, quite far from disarmed. "What happened to your code names? What happened to Drake?"

"Did we agree on code names to start with?" countered Harry.

Hermione glared at him wordlessly. "All-or-none law – you start something to stick with it until the very end or you don't start it at all – regardless."

Ron, Dean, and Seamus winced after these words.

Harry had never felt the urge to do something violent to Hermione as he did then.

"Hm, Granger," said Draco hoarsely, clearing his throat, "do you have a talent for picking the right time for these things or what..."

Seamus said, "And don't forget neither of us even questioned why there were four dusty loafer truants in the middle of _high-class _Winox Lane. They didn't belong in that picture in the first place."

Harry swore at himself for never having stopped and thought about that indeed strange sight of the shabby-looking boys leaning on an outside wall far cleaner than themselves. He had just been so caught up in the fun of the day...

"Well, it doesn't matter now," said Draco dismissively, searching himself, "because... I think... there's still... one more... way... out of here..."

After Hermione had closed and covered her eyes to Harry's flat stare with her hands, she sharply looked up at Draco, as did everyone in that room.

"What do you mean?" whispered Seamus, hope shining in his miserable-looking eyes.

"The Chassio," said Draco quietly, and even though Fauss was nowhere to be seen, his eyes flicked over to the iron doors.

Daring to believe it despite himself, Harry sprung to his feet. "Draco," was all he could say, for there had sprouted a blinding beam of hope in his chest that they didn't have to endure all this after all.

Wide-eyed, Hermione looked on quietly at Draco as he revealed from his robes the Chassio he had evidently brought along, to the surprise of just about everyone in that cell.

"You came with it?" asked Harry, in an unnecessarily quiet voice as well.

Draco nodded. "Just in case. Fauss destroyed the Portkey, but my Chassio can take me straight to the manor."

"Malfoy Manor?" said Seamus, gaping as he stood up and clamped down on his shoulder.

Draco nodded vigorously, looking down carefully at the Chassio, licking his lips, but then all movement ceased from him, and he subsequently shook his Chassio.

"That can't be right. Are we north? Is it six thirty-seven in the evening? And who here wants to hurt me?"

"Well, probably not, definitely no, and maybe later," answered Hermione, and then went on despairingly, "Are you sure that thing is working?"

Draco shook the Chassio again and the thirteen needles spun wildly until coming to an improbable stop, for Harry was certain it hadn't become nine o' clock in the space of five seconds, he doubted they were now south-west after apparently being north, and he was reasonably sure nobody in that cage meant any harm to Draco, unless one considered the cage or the dungeon itself as possibly harmful to him.

Draco hissed a fluent string of swearwords that had never graced Harry's ears, nor, it appeared, had they Ron's.

"Maybe it's because of something in here. You saw what happened when we were duelling," said Seamus, who had retreated back to the iron bars and who appeared not to like Draco's profanity; he may have thought Draco had been above it.

Draco shook his head. "This thing is dead."

Despondent beyond measure, Harry returned to his previous position on the floor against the wall.

Hermione sighed despairingly, and she closed her eyes.

"I assume that was the troll Fauss," she deadpanned, after a while.

"Yeah," answered Harry flatly, from the floor.

Hermione nodded shortly.

"The sick bastard."

"Oh you saw what I saw too?" asked Harry, with a small, bitter snort.

"He's just as twisted and mad as that other major bastard," said Hermione quietly, as she found for herself a place on the floor unsurprisingly close to Ron.

"No wonder they're such best pals these days," remarked Harry, referring to the fact that Fauss seemed to have shot up in the rankings of the Death Eaters, or at least bore enough prominence to be included amongst adult Death Eaters who had been as such for more than a quarter of a century, for Harry had caught a glimpse of his square face and cold eyes on that Hogsmeade night before he fled with Voldemort and the rest.

"What's this now?" asked Seamus as he held a hand to his shoulder, and with a familiar, slight undertone in his words, which Harry thought he knew what it was about, that there was a divine and impenetrable level of understanding between himself, Ron, and Hermione. It had initially surfaced when they had been about to discuss the Horcruxes at the villa.

"Fauss," spat Harry in the interim, "you didn't see his pants, did you?"

"It's like everyone's obsessed beyond reason with control and power these days," observed Hermione angrily.

"What?" said Seamus, "He had a hard-on?" he asked, now positively clamping on his shoulder.

"Major hard-on," agreed Harry, nodding against the black wall behind him. "And that was just from a compliment. Can you imagine if I had went on my knees?"

"That bloke had a hard-on when he was looking at you like that when you were saying he was better than Voldemort?" asked Dean disbelievingly.

Harry merely stared at Dean in answer.

"It's not surprising," remarked Draco. "Power seems to be the new 'cool', doesn't it?"

Seamus gave a cynical-sounding snort; it sounded rather watery as well.

"He likes you in that way?" asked Dean, plainly confused.

There were several snorts.

"No, not in the way you're thinking about," said Draco. "Trust me, if there ever was a straight bloke it is Fauss. No, he likes overpowering people, likes being in control, likes dominating them, likes it too much, it seems."

"That's sick," announced Dean shortly, nevertheless, his words ringing alone in the silence.

"Voldemort's sick," he continued.

"Everyone's sick on this side," he finished, to the accompaniment of more silence. His words hadn't garnered the support for which he may have been hunting, or perhaps he was genuinely disgusted beyond measure, at least it sounded as such.

Seamus hissed.

"So where do you think we are?" Dean went on, asking anyone at large, really.

"In Voldemort's father's house," answered Harry.

Dean looked as though he would have preferred Harry not to have said this.

"Oh yeah, he must have been a kid himself once," said Dean, though he appeared to struggle imagining this, even Harry did slightly in spite of the fact that he had seen a fourteen-year-old Riddle in second year.

"And that graveyard out there was where Wormtail tied me up when he was reviving Voldemort."

"Blimey, Harry," said Ron vaguely. It may be because Harry had divulged the details of that night to neither him nor Hermione, except for Sirius and Dumbledore.

Harry shrugged at him, picked up a straw of hay, snapped it, and started folding it systematically.

"So what exactly happened?" Ron asked Harry, taking this opportunity to pry Harry a little more open to revealing the details of that horrible night months ago.

"Fuckin' hell...!" moaned Seamus, whose eyes were now red and swimming with tears.

"What's wrong?" asked Hermione, turning to him.

Seamus shortly let go of his shoulder for a second to reveal a nasty, red, smooth burn mark, at which Dean and Ron whistled.

"Oh, Seamus!" cried Hermione sympathetically. "You should've shown me when I still had my wand!"

"At what point, you mean?" asked Seamus. "When we were duelling? When he demanded them?"

"But you can't live with a burn wound like that...!" hissed Hermione, hissing and wincing on Seamus' behalf needlessly.

On his knees, Seamus quietly went over to the iron bars and pressed his shoulder against one of them, whereupon he sighed in relief.

"It's something."

"But are you gonna sit there the whole time?" asked Ron sceptically.

Seamus shrugged. "What choice do I have?" Soon after, he lowered his shoulder on the bar to seek out a freshly cold area.

Turning away from him slowly with sympathy in their faces, the attention then resumed upon Harry, who for a long while, looked ahead of him through the large iron sliding doors, but soon enough he found himself recounting almost every detail of that night when Voldemort was returned to life as Draco had nearly done his parents. When he finished there was no closed mouth around him, and the one whose jaw was closest to the floor was Draco.

"Bleedin' hell, mate," whispered Ron. "That's hectic, that."

"So you really are strong like Voldemort!" said Seamus, with something of a grin.

Harry raised his eyebrows lazily.

"Well, you said your wands had connected and you managed to push the beams of light towards him – that says something, don't it?"

"Who's obsessed with power now?" murmured Dean to Ron, who smirked in amusement back at him.

"I don't think so, Seamus, and anyway Voldemort is much powerful now, isn't he? Remember what happened that night?"

"How can we forget?" breathed Seamus, shaking his head, his eyes distancing as his mind lapsed into the memory. "All ghostly and shrieking and all..."

"Yeah," said Harry shortly.

"How much stuff did we actually lose, though?" asked Ron, as he started pulling from out his robes several items, which remained in their shrunken sizes since he didn't have his wand anymore.

"Catch that Snitch! is gone," Harry told him, as he also searched himself, taking stock.

"AnnoCup too," said Seamus, pulling out stuff from his own robes whilst still maintaining contact with his shoulder and a bar.

"Woozoo," said Ron sadly. "But there's something to be salvaged in this Bludge Bar." He started sucking sadly on a very small red wrapper of a chocolate bar, which in addition had been blasted into two and melted by the fierce duel and the sun. A Bludge Bar was a continuous chocolate bar made up of a line of five chocolate balls, in which there was blissfully tasty nougat awaiting one's tongue and an outer layer of toasted short biscuits. "Managed to save some Snitch discs and some Shank-Shakers... Oh and I got seven pieces of my chess set..." Hermione inserted herself at this point and rubbed Ron's back consolingly as he stared at the tiny, shattered glass pieces in his hand.

There came a muffled shriek beyond the iron doors.

"The lot of you are filthy liars! Show me them! Show me! You realize what I'll do to you or have you do if I came here for a hoax, then? Go on, open it! No use getting nerves over it now!"

The iron doors groaned and creaked and then finally starting slowly sliding apart to reveal a figure with a strong jaw, heavy, black bags under her eyes, and a permanently shocked head of black hair, and the face Bellatrix Lestrange wore was one of utter shock. Her eyes traditionally flew to and locked onto Harry's – dark eyes for green ones. Bellatrix looked speechless.

"Ah!" she shrieked wildly, her shocked hair going this way and that. She burst into speed as she took into the dungeon, but then she squeaked to a sudden halt in the hay, spun around, and took Fauss by the front of his robes, dragging him as she flew to the cage for no apparent reason. Her head with her widened eyes jerked from one captive to the other until they landed on Draco, at whom she gave a tremulous, gleeful grin, before she found Harry again, her eyes growing even wider. "Oh, Mitchell, you'll soon be dining with our Lord for this pleasing capture! Seems you deserve your Mark, after all! Unlike the rest of you mongrels!" she spat behind her, whereupon Harry noticed Carrow, Massice, Warrington, and Blaise exchange glances. Harry was quite sure they did not have Dark Marks. "Ah! Potter! Behind bars yourself for once, how does that go?"

"Quite nice, actually," replied Harry, who had come to his feet in his alarm. "The hay rounds it off nicely."

Bellatrix shrieked with beaming delight again, her chest rising and falling rapidly with so much dear excitement it was almost palpable to Harry standing no more than four metres away from her.

"Still have words, do you?" she questioned, and she shook her head vigorously. "No different than Dumbledore – also had a fair deal to say before they offed him. See what I told you about Potter and Dumbledore? More than just student and headmaster, you can bet! Having nice little sessions in your headmaster's office after school hours, were you?" she teased shrilly, jumping from the tip of her toe to that of the other toe. "How did Dumbledore do it, Potter? How did he get it up and running and in drip-drop condition for you?"

The dungeon shook with the cruel laughter that rumbled behind Bellatrix, who was absolutely radiant in her exquisite glee, beside her Fauss' chest pumping up and down as he laughed.

Despite the believed extreme bounds of his tolerance, Harry's face had flushed with anger.

"He did nothing of that sort to me."

Bellatrix threw her head back and seemed to struggle for breath as she jumped up and down on the patina of hay on the floor.

"Hah! He can't even say it with a straight face! He's blushing like a proper virgin!"

The hilarity mounted, exploding into the stratosphere as many clapped each other and doubled over, saliva hanging from several lips.

Harry's heart was beating very fast; he did not think he had ever experienced such humiliation in his entire life. Being called crazy, delusional, an attention seeker, or a delinquent positively sounded like flattering compliments in comparison.

"No – no – no!" gasped Bellatrix loudly, her eyes floating in her sockets around her tears. "Would you like it on all fours or on your back, Mr Potter? And never mind a Mint Toffee, how about a cocksickle!"

After this, she seemed to lose all her breath in one unladylike howl as she dropped to the floor, while Fauss and his lackeys behind him started having fits – their bodies jerking with uncontrollable laughter. Fauss banged on his chest, his mouth hanging, struggling to draw breath. Warrington was stomping his foot on the floor like a horse, Massice was rolling in the hay with Carrow, and Blaise's body shook modestly with mirth as he leaned against the black wall, his face pink.

"On my back please, sir, I want to see the faces you ma..." Bellatrix could barely finish this sentence, and there was a moment where the dungeon went quiet as every uvula was exposed in silence, and then the storm of roaring laughter boomed across the circular room; teenagers dropped onto the hey, and Bellatrix held onto Fauss, who was hardly standing himself, teetering on his fit as his fits continued.

"Ah, Harry my boy, you stoke... my... rusted... burning... loins...!"

"Salazar's toupee, stop, stop, stop it...!"

Little tremors were shaking Harry's body all over. He was suspended it utter disbelief of it all. His neck felt stiff and stuck – he couldn't look aside at his friends even if he wanted to, which he hadn't the slightest desire to do at the moment. This was beyond humiliating. It seemed to wither his person such that he felt he was almost weightless, floating on his feet, such was his ignominy before his friends. If only they could have done this anywhere but in front of Draco, in front of Ron, in front of Dean, and Hermione and Seamus, the latter of whom strangely enough looked quite close to joining the mirthful gaggle, and then he released a pressurized snort he couldn't hold back any longer, at which point the entire room stopped laughing so suddenly, Harry thought some kind of black hole would erupt in front of them, wondering where all that energy from that hysteria could have gone, displaced on swiftly.

"Whatchu sniggering at?" yelled Bellatrix, now standing quite strongly on her own two feet, looking the furthest from amused.

The little upward curl of Seamus' lips wilted before her demanding glare, and his Adam's apple bobbed feverishly, begging to hide in a niche under his jaw again.

Bellatrix sniffed and wiped her eyes face clean, the Slytherins picked themselves up from the floor, and everything seemed as normal as it had been minutes prior. Bellatrix's eyes found Harry's eyes again.

"I think I've right lost about ten pounds after that," she lilted, hands on her hips, and she was flattered by chuckles from the boys.

"Your own friends sniggering at you, Potter!" she spat, her wand hand twitching. "You liked my jokes, little lad?"

Seamus' face lost all colour.

"Hey!" said Bellatrix, hitting the iron bars with her wand as though Seamus was an animal. "I asked you a question, yeah?" She merely gave a look at Fauss, who must have been dragged all the way next to her to do precisely this – wave his wand over the locker, which, however, did not click open; impatient, Bellatrix clucked her tongue and by her mere touch, it opened; Seamus and every other person in that cage backed off despite their male egos, even Draco, leaving Harry the only one to remain where he stood.

Bellatrix gazed at Harry breathlessly as she stepped in, her eyes wide in seeming expectation of him to do something, which she appeared excited about, but when Harry did nothing, her face didn't falter in the slightest as she sloped aside.

"I was asking you a question, boy!" She waved her wand at Seamus, at which point Harry's body jerked, but all she had done to Seamus was lift all his Body Modification Charms in one stroke. She subsequently turned to the rest of them, croaking their name and flicking her wand at them as she passed with some bizarre knowing, until she had standing in front of her the original appearances of Ron, Dean, Seamus, Harry, Draco, and Hermione.

"Thought those were real disguises?" she snorted in cold derision.

Seamus, clearly hoping Bellatrix Lestrange had forgotten him, inched closer to Dean, which Harry thought was an unforgivable mistake in front of a pureblood.

And Bellatrix was crazy enough to catch the hint.

"Ah..." she said slowly, her heavily lidded eyes glowing with searing malice. "Running cowering to your shining knight, Dean Thomas, isn't it?" Dean didn't speak, though Bellatrix hadn't sounded to be asking him to confirm his name but merely stating it. "I can already guess who gets what in the what! All of you!" She swept her wand around them all. "Befouling the name of wizard with your repugnant acts! Draco! Of all people, little nephew! I thank Salazar Lucius didn't live to see this, his only son snivelling behind his _boyfriend_! What hope did the Malf—hey, don't you move away from me, I asked you a question – I said, what were you laughing at?"

Seamus' lips had shut tightly, while Dean's jaw bones stood out as he stared at the air in front of him.

"I do not like repeating myself, laddie," warned Bellatrix kindly, as she ticked her wand this way and that, prowling towards Seamus. She put her whole face close up into his. "No?" she said, shaking her head, and when she stuck her wand up the underside of Seamus' chin and was about to utter something, Seamus made a strangled noise.

"What was that? Come on, boy, speak up, speak up."

"You were funny, is all," muttered Seamus through tightly bitten lips. "I mean, the loins and the toupee…"

Bellatrix's eyebrow slowly went over her forehead, scalp, and came to rest invisibly at the back of her hair. "Oh, you think I'm hilarious, do you?" she whispered, nodding her head at Seamus as though addressing a toddler, while her wand still stabbed into the hollow of his throat. "Wait till you see what I crack up after this, yeah, then you'll really laugh so hard you're gonna drop to the floor." She grinned and nodded at him again, and then she slithered over Dean, jerking her face forward into his in an intimidating way, but she passed on and halted at Harry, by whom she evidently couldn't stop another mad giggle of delight. "Can't wait for him to meet you again! Bet your faggot arse I will be here, Potter, to watch the fireworks, ha! And of course when the lights finally go out! But while we're here, I'm dying to know who takes the other from behind between you and my nephew!"

More laughter broke from behind.

Harry didn't answer Bellatrix's radiantly mad face but kept his own face stoic, impassive, still stiff from her humiliating taunts about him and Dumbledore.

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows again, sticking his wand into Harry's throat, but Harry still didn't react, at which point Bellatrix slowly turned to those behind her and said lusciously, "Oh I do love to play with him…

"_Crucio!_"

Harry fell to the floor, writhing in pain, while his friends watched on with horror.

"His famous stubbornness is rather amusing," observed Bellatrix, as she cocked her head to the side while Harry screamed under her wand.

"STOP!" shrieked Hermione. "STOP IT, YOU'RE HURTING HIM, CAN'T YOU SEE?"

"Whatchu say, Mudblood girl? A gutterling telling me what to do? _Crucio!_"

When Ron charged full steam ahead, Bellatrix waved her wand again, cackling.

"_Stupefy!_"

Ron crashed to Bellatrix's feet; Bellatrix kicked him and scampered away, her face contorted with disgust. "Blood traitors of the generation! I spit after the marks of your family!"

She then turned to Harry. "Go on, why don't you fuck her like you've always wanted to, poopy Potty-poo! Little missy probably still a bleedin' virgin, ain't she? Why don't you help your friend out and loosen her a bit, eh? _Imperio!_" she shouted at Harry, who was still taking in rattling breaths after his torture but who now with an odd graceful languidness utterly unbecoming of him slowly stepped over Ron, but Dean swiftly tackled Harry towards the iron bars, whereupon Bellatrix screamed, "_Incarcerus!_" and ropes burst from her wand and bound Dean, dropping him to the floor rigidly; serenely unperturbed, Harry took this opportunity of clear way to bring himself smoothly to his feet, step over Dean's struggling body, and saunter over to a twitching Hermione on the floor, recovering from the curse.

Wandless, Draco looked on from his little corner helplessly.

Bellatrix howled in utter pleasure while the boys behind them watched on with amusement.

"Go on, wanna get in the action?" laughed Bellatrix, a mad glow in her black-ringed eyes. "Hey—Oh! Draco, I have a better idea! _Imperio!_ Bugger him, get, get – go!" she yelled at Seamus, who promptly walked over to Draco with an elegant limpness as well.

"Aunt Bella…" said Draco quietly, seeming not to belief what Bellatrix had just done. Instinctively, his hand flew to the insides of his robes, but of course his wand was safely in Fauss' possession.

"Don't you think you'd like a change of fit?" asked Bellatrix. "Add a little colour to your sex life? I'm sure Irish or Scottish meat or whatever is just as good as Potter's! Go on, go on, whatever your name is!"

"Aunt Bella! Seamus! Finnigan, STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!"

"HARRY! Don't do this, please don't do this! Ron! RON! Hold him back!" cried Hermione, but a Stupefied Ron was in no such position to do so, nor was an Incarcerated Dean, leaving Harry free to overpower her easily and take her down to the floor, where he opened his zip.

Draco ran around Seamus and tried pulling Harry off Hermione, but then Seamus was lifting up his robes from behind and Draco gave a rather unmanly scream and pummeled Seamus with a brief rain of punches before returning to Harry, who Hermione was trying to beat in the head but didn't have it within her to do it, since Harry cared more for undressing her than any direct attacks to his undefended face. Hermione continued to struggle under Harry, while Draco tried yanking him off, and the same time Seamus was recovering from the floor, rising to get a hold of Draco again; Draco kicked behind him.

"Harry, fuckin' snap out of it, please, Harry!" pleaded Draco, as he fought off Seamus, who was now breathing hard through his mouth as he rubbed himself against Draco's robes, so uncontrollable was his manufactured lust, and then Draco growled when Seamus swayed to the floor with him.

Meanwhile, with Bellatrix's jumping yells of encouragement, Harry caught both Hermione's arms over her head, his penis was out in the open, and he was pulling her skirt up her legs.

Bellatrix appeared to be in euphoria. Her laugh had even transformed from a mad cackle to an almost pleasant, airy giggle, while she threw head back and clawed at her chest, unable to control her feelings of 'beatification'.

By the slight advantage of height and build he had over Draco – who was easily the weakest boy in that cage – Seamus fought with unnatural stamina to systemically acquire each one of Draco's limbs in his grip as Draco's own stamina started waning, when his cheeks – red from exhaustion – had slackened due to the lack of energy even to shout anymore had left him, but Draco still struggled bravely, if futilely, for then Seamus – still moving and maneuvering his body like a snake with languid patience – could finally turn him at least partially on his side and move his robes out the way to find access to his pants, which he then started pulling down as patiently as an anaconda will be in engulfing its prey, knowing that after the long process of ingesting the animal, it would finally be in its stomach, Seamus would ultimately attain what he was cursed to want.

"Harry, you can stop this, Harry, please, you can stop doing this right now," said Hermione, in quiet, quivering whispers at Harry as he started pulling down her underwear while his legs repressed hers. "Moody taught us, Harry, don't you remember?" she whispered with a long, moist sniff, her eyes darting to Bellatrix, who was quite beside herself at the moment. "Harry, Harry, I am begging you, just say no again, like you did in class, like you told us you did with Voldemort in the graveyard today… please, please, please, Harry, sssshhhh…" She hissed and cried silently as she felt the blunt tip of Harry's penis on the flesh of her vagina, and at that moment, Draco gave a soft cry as Seamus pushed his own dry penis at his anus.

Harry's green eyes pulsated, his penis paused from pushing the lips of Hermione's vagina apart as the decibels of that soft cry resonated to a track in his mind; Hermione looked down from the ceiling, staring up at Harry with brimming eyes.

"Ahah, Harry…!" cried Draco, who was now completely lying on his stomach. "Lemelefuckalone, Seamus…!"

Green fire exploded in the cage, and Bellatrix was too late in rearing her head back from when it was thrown back in laughter; her throat and chest were charred instantly, and she fell shrieking in pain to the floor.

Harry caught his pants as he teetered over to Draco and Seamus, who he pushed off and for whom he swung his arm above him and delivered the hardest slap he could manage, but such a physical action couldn't assail the superior power of an Unforgivable; Seamus started struggling with Harry to get to Draco, and at the same time there were gasps and yells of shock and outrage from behind him; Harry whipped around on Seamus for a split second to see Fauss and his gang pelting for them, Fauss already flinging the gate apart to get inside the cage. Harry left Seamus to lunge for Bellatrix's wand as Fauss raised his own wand at him, but Dean then gave a might flip of his tied body and nearly took Fauss to the floor but was not able to make him stumble over his incantation; his spell shot directly to Harry but fizzled out of life before it could reach him, while Harry desperately latched onto Bellatrix's fallen wand and bellowed with all the force in his body, mind, and spirit, "_CRUCIO!_"

So much was the power behind this word that though what ultimately survived the smothering air of the dungeon were some few short sparks of brilliant orange, it was more than enough to wrench from Fauss' lungs the kind of howls that could have sent chills down even the Slytherins' backs, but they were now storming into the cage, and eight on one was not a fight to begin with, and so Harry was beaten up without curses but with the traditional fist and boot, and soon after, he was propped up against the wall, blood dripping from his fringe, his left eye purple and swollen already.

No longer under Bellatrix's Imperius Curse, Seamus was dripping soft tears of seeming violation and humiliation into his lap as he sat next to Dean, who wasn't freed from the binding ropes and remained on the floor. Ron had snapped out of Bellatrix's Stunner Spell as well and was now holding fiercely onto Hermione as he muttered, "What happened? What's wrong? What happened?"

The Slytherins had carried out an endlessly shrieking Bellatrix and helped Fauss out of the cage and ultimately out of the dungeons. Harry thought Voldemort wouldn't be too pleased to see what seemed to be his favourite follower marked by Harry as such.

But then at the tail of this single thought, there was a mad shriek, the iron doors shot apart from each other and framed in the threshold was again Bellatrix – her face contorted beyond human limits, the front of her robes burnt and charred, and her throat and chest a grisly canvas of black and red. She half cried, half screamed as she blitzed into the dungeon, her wand out, slashing it through the air to make all of them cower, but her spells were too erratic to hold their aims true and threaten any of them. Clearly beyond reason and clearly beside herself Bellatrix threw aside the gate and stomped back into the cage, screaming at the top of her voice as she jerked her wand back and forth at Harry, jumping from foot to foot.

"I SHALL KILL HIM NOW! I SWEAR I SHALL KILL HIM NOW, FORGIVE ME, MY LORD!" she wailed at him, still jumping on her feet, blood staining the hay beneath her red.

"Our Lord said you must not kill Potter and especially Malfoy!" boomed Fauss, whose fear for Bellatrix seemed to have been overcome in the light of what she was threatening to do, as he stormed over towards her. One of his cheeks and his left arm was twitching steadily after Harry's Cruciatus Curse.

And immediately after these words, still shrieking her lungs out, the bulging eyes in her skull flew to the others for whom perhaps there was no explicit order not to harm. Her incensed eyes found the person she perhaps judged she could hurt most, or perhaps hurt Harry with most. They rather fastened upon Seamus, a moment later there was a whooshing noise and a flash of green, and an already Incarcerated Dean stopped struggling against the ropes, and the soft thud of his head on the hay was the last sound to issue from him as he laid on the floor, peaceful and unmoving.

Seamus had yet to register what exactly had happened when Bellatrix seemed to go into access and burst into a mad cackling sight of simple, broken, and utter mania. She laughed all around them, their frozen faces seeming to stimulate her to the furthest bounds of pleasure achievable by man, though there was still a trace of a crying note in her laughter. Her face lingered on Harry before she pranced gleefully out of the cage only to flounder gracelessly to the floor a few metres from it, her laughter now slowly transcending into shrill cries of pain as her euphoria wore off and the pain started encroaching back upon her flayed nerves by Harry's emerald fire dragon. She called for Fauss, who promptly helped her up and dragged her out of the dungeon, leaving a trail of red in their wake. The huge iron doors slowly slid towards each other after them and ultimately closed the sight of Bellatrix hobbling and crying in Fauss' arms.

After two seconds of the iron bars clashing closed, Seamus swooned and fainted on top of Dean's corpse.


	8. Smiling Revelations

**Chapter 8**

**Smiling ****Revelations**

There was a moment wherein the faces staring at a tranquil Dean bound in ropes on the floor remained frozen and unresponsive, but then Hermione started screaming at the top of her lungs, and Ron held onto her even more tightly, trying to close her mouth, trying to restrain her from going over to Seamus.

Unrestrained himself, and looking quite pale, Draco went over to Dean and Seamus and softly hauled the latter off the former, dragged him, and rested him between Dean and the wall against which Harry sat. Draco then came over to Harry and assessed the damage he had endured from the enraged Slytherins. He hissed together with Harry when he touched Harry's temple, close to his swollen eye. Draco then sat back on his haunches and stared at the sum of Harry's image sadly.

Hermione was moaning and murmuring deep in Ron's chest, while Ron made shushing and consoling noises.

"You've probably established my aunt's deadly mental," said Draco quietly.

Harry merely stared back at him without a change of expression.

Draco's lips pursed, and his eyes plaintively travelled around Harry's battered face.

"I remember when I was small and Dragonfly hurt his wing, and I was so scared and wanted him to be all right; I grew up with him, he was my first pet; I didn't get that python I had always wanted like I told you, and I had him long before going to Hogwarts, unlike the others who only get their owls or toads or cats or whatever just before first year. So I thought I would magically heal him with just my sheer will and determination, and it worked – his wing twisted and went back in the right direction. Shocked as I was that it had worked that I started thinking I was a prophet of some kind or something.

"I told Mother and she was proud of me, but Father didn't say much of it, which was just as well, because when I grew up I couldn't do it anymore. Father said it was perhaps because when you're a child you're not 'aligned to the deep mental structures that govern the society at large', and that you are more in touch with the 'other world', with the invisible and unbelievable, which he said is why some people believe that babies have a secret language or some kind of understanding we don't know. Some have even gone to the length of blaming this for child tantrums and their uncontrollable magical outbursts and what not, kind of like you, just a decade older. I could try my healing abilities on you now, but I doubt it would work. Not to mention I haven't tried it again since forever."

Harry blinked slowly at him, his left eye sealed up with swollen flesh, his fringe dripping blood on his shirt.

Draco took his robe and carefully wiped his face as well as the streak of blood in his hair.

"Your robe's beaten. Did your new clothes survive?" he asked.

Harry shrugged quietly.

"Doesn't matter – can't un-shrink them anyway."

Then he looked aside at Ron and Hermione rocking right and left, Hermione's chest jerking up and down as she sobbed into Ron's.

"What happened to the other Portkey?" croaked Harry, staring blankly at Draco, who turned to him before searching himself, saying, "You mean this?" He produced a dazzling hairpin. "Don't think it would work – there's some kind of field in here that prevents magic being used or something to that effect..."

"But Bellatrix definitely used her magic to her full satisfaction," said Harry quietly.

"Which was strange," said Draco, frowning at the ground. "We couldn't do anything as much as a shower of sparks while she managed to cover each one of the Unforgivables... I think it might be because she's a Death Eater."

"But Fauss's also a Death Eater by the looks of it," said Harry flatly. "She said he deserved his Mark, didn't she?"

"I don't know, then," said Draco, shaking his head and stowing the hairpin back into his robes. "Maybe he couldn't do magic too because he's in our age range or something."

"Maybe," deadpanned Harry. "What's more worrying is what Fauss said, though."

Draco's eyes darted to Harry before they looked away, and when Harry realized Draco wasn't going to comment or elaborate on his point, he continued, "Not to kill 'especially you'."

Draco continued staring at something next to Harry's waist, looking far from contributing to the one-way discussion.

"What do you think that means?"

After a long while, Draco shrugged, his eyes darting left and right – his mind was clearly working furiously.

"I think Voldemort still wants you," said Harry.

Draco crossed his arms silently.

Harry's eyes had found Dean's body, gazing at the rope-bound corpse. They had lost one of their own again. He looked down at Seamus lying unconscious near Ron and Hermione. He looked away.

"Wonder how Voldemort's visit's gonna turn out if that was only Bellatrix," remarked Harry, with painful amusement in his voice, and fittingly, Draco stared at him with faint furrows across his brow for his dark humour, but he remained wordless as he produced his Chassio again and shook it.

"Fourteen minutes past three, west, and someone still has intentions of hurting me."

"What are we going to do with...?" began Harry, but he didn't finish his sentence as his eyes found Dean again; he swallowed down a lump in his throat.

Draco stared where Harry was gazing, and a moment later after taking in a bracing breath, he stood up and called over Ron, who took a few seconds to try to figure out what Draco was meaning, but then he slowly extracted himself from Hermione and went over to him. They picked up Dean's corpse, lumbered over to the farthest wall, lowered him back on the floor, and started battling to rip the ropes off him manually; Harry then brought himself to his feet and went over to help them. It took them about half an hour to remove all the ropes tying Dean wherein Seamus had woken up and was resting his head in the chest of Hermione's, who had calmed down and looked on at the scene with a green face while she petted him.

After throwing the ropes aside, particularly Ron and Harry couldn't help a moment of staring down at dark-skinned Dean Thomas, a friend of theirs and a member of their Gryffindor house for more than four years, but after Draco moved along, Ron and Harry shook themselves out of their mood and started grooming Dean: Draco flapped his robes and unsettled the dust and dirt, Ron removed several items from his person and arranged his limbs properly, and Harry blew and wiped his face clean, and ruffled and brushed the dust out of his hair. When all was in order, they started gathering armfuls of hay and covering his body until there was a small mound of it against the wall; Dean was successfully hidden from their eyes and given the highest dignity affordable in the circumstances.

"Right, so we're just waiting for the snake man himself now," remarked Ron loftily, as he dusted his hands off, but the quaver in his voice was unmistakable; Ron was obviously terrified of Voldemort's impending stop here and perhaps by which one of them was to follow Dean, and now that the sight of whose corpse wasn't there to distract him anymore, Harry also couldn't help but worry for Voldemort. Why Bellatrix had shown up in Voldemort's stead, Harry was sure, was obviously because mere teenagers couldn't possess the privilege of enjoying Voldemort's attention, or entire attention, and so he may have assigned Bellatrix to investigate, or perhaps Fauss' Dark Mark simply wasn't wired to Voldemort as the rest were.

But either way, Bellatrix had seen them with her own mad eyes that they were here, finally captured, and he was certain so eager is she to please him, she would not hesitate to touch her Dark Mark and summon her master. Harry's eyes fixed upon the iron doors, from where they didn't stray as he lowered himself back onto the floor and sat against the wall, and as the time crawled onwards until he lost all sense of it. It now may have been evening, but Harry couldn't think of why Voldemort wouldn't show up immediately, for their capture must have been at the top of his list of priorities, below which was surely Hogwarts.

"What are your signature spells?" asked Draco idly, as he tied stalks of hay together.

"What?" asked Ron, who had his back against the wall as well, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and his arms crossed, while Seamus was still engulfed in Hermione's hold.

"Your signature spells," repeated Draco. "Everyone has them. Mine's the Aurola Charm – I like it for more what it looks like than what it does. It's purple and it's sort of like a shimmering purple dome – used it on Blaise today – beautiful and not ghastly harmful – didn't have the heart to hurt him. I should have, though..." Draco snapped the hay stalks. "...But it's one of those rare spells that have the case that form doesn't follow function... So what's yours, Harry? I think I know what it is, though."

Harry shrugged without bothering his deadpan stare at the iron doors.

"Expulsion Spell," said Draco and Ron at the same time, whereupon they exchanged smirks.

"What's yours, Seamus?" asked Draco.

Seamus' hair gave way to a pale, slightly freckled face as he removed himself from Hermione's chest.

"Maybe a Stunner, I don't know," he said, as he rubbed his eyes dry and sniffed vociferously, clamping down on his scalded shoulder again.

"Ron?" said Draco, and Harry couldn't help looking at him in surprise as Ron also did: it was the first time Draco said his first name.

"Mm," Ron musingly, "maybe a Petrifying Spell."

"You're all very boring," drawled Draco, and then turned to Hermione, "And you?"

"Don't really have one," murmured Hermione.

"Of course you wouldn't," said Draco dryly. "Leave the hexes to the boys. Leave _Quidditch_ to the boys."

He looked aside, looking uncomfortable at being unoccupied now, but he didn't have to wait long to be to the contrary, for at that moment there was a noise of grinding steel, a hiss, and Draco winced with fear as he stared at the iron doors sliding apart to reveal a horrifying throng of dark-robbed figures hanging behind the tallest figure of all, with large, spidery hands and a scarlet glow in the depths of his hood.

The one thought that crossed Harry's mind was how funny it was to see Voldemort in what was surely still afternoon outside, but such a flippant thought didn't spare his heart thundering against his chest, didn't stop his throat from turning to a dry silo, and didn't stop his hackles raising as Voldemort and his Death Eaters slowly drifted over the threshold. Moments later there was another hiss, and Harry noticed a few figures shivering as they inched away from something, glaring at the floor.

"My Lord, my Lord, I don't lie! It's them! You see them with your own eyes!"

It was Bellatrix's voice, deep with devotion, empty of emotion, but Harry couldn't see her among the other Death Eaters yet.

"I see them indeed," said Voldemort vaguely, striding slowly into the arena-sized dungeon, his face quietly unbelieving. The great snake Nagini slithered into sight behind him, flicking her forked tongue in the air, her gaze on Draco, while on her master's face there was that mild expression again that undermined the evils of which he was so capable. "Is that really you, Potter?" hissed Voldemort, in tandem with his snake as his eyes widened with intrigue now. "How blessed a day is this? Finally, at my grasp..."

"Hey, Voldie," greeted Harry, as he waved a lazy arm.

There was a broken, high-pitched noise of disbelief, and as obscure as the figure had been moments before, Bellatrix rushed out with Fauss and dim torchlight spilled onto her flayed, bloodied chest and her mad, dark-ringed eyes, widened at Harry.

"You will show the respect the Dark Lord commands! Get on your feet this moment!"

So furious was Bellatrix, her shaking hands fumbled to retrieve her wand from her bloodied robes and hold it properly, but by that time Voldemort was already speaking.

"It's all right, Bella, if Potter does not want rise, it's his own choice – let him be; it _is_ his choices that unwittingly sustain me after all."

"My Lord?" gasped Bellatrix, as though she had been doused with freezing water. She hung in Fauss' grip – apparently unable to stand on her own two feet – her wand still in her hand, so recently ready to curse someone.

The mob of dark figures halted in the centre of the dungeon, the dim light of which failed to reveal much of any of them. They spread out to make a line on either sides of Voldemort, each seeming to have a designated place of their own, though the right side of the line floundered before getting themselves in order.

"It appears the famous gang is all here," observed Voldemort, and then he let his hood fall to reveal a flat, snake-like face so pale it seemed to emit a fluorescent glow, while the ring of torchlight made his slit, scarlet eyes burn. Every figure followed suit and dropped their hoods to reveal a majority of adults and a few teenagers. "And at whose hand?"

"My Lord," said Fauss, as he stepped forward, and four other figures nearly mimicked him, but Fauss glared at them balefully, whereupon they retreated as they glowered back at him.

"Fauss, this was your doing entirely?" questioned Voldemort, without averting his eyes from Harry, Ron, Seamus, Draco, and Hermione in the cage.

"Yes, my Lord," replied Fauss, as he turned his head and dared the four figures which had stepped forward with him to contradict him.

"My Lord, my Lord," whispered Bellatrix, flinging herself at Voldemort's feet, looking unafraid of the snake swirling there. "I beg you! Potter – he – he injured me somehow – I can't explain it, but my wounds burn terribly..."

"Bella, if you're hoping I will heal you, I must disappoint you – I don't recall ever needing to be healed, hence I utterly lack in that area, and I confess this without shame, mind you. Won't you ask your peers?"

"Your highness, I can—I can heal her at once," stuttered Carrow, his hand already drifting to his robe.

"Your majesty, I excel in Healing Spells as well – I could heal her too with a single stroke!" squeaked Massice oilily.

Bellatrix was gaping on the floor, staring at them, while Voldemort looked merely amused at their desperation to prove themselves, not to mention the oily terms with which they addressed him. He finally turned away from the cage as he stalked forward and turned his back on it, facing his followers.

"Ah, if it isn't the woeful four."

Harry watched as Massice's, Blaise's, Warrington's, and Carrow's faces crumble. Some other figures moved about restlessly.

"For the record, I do not appreciate being called by those epithets. You couldn't have made known your novice statuses any plainer."

Low, jeering chuckles bubbled from the line of dark figures.

"So you think you can absolve yourselves in my eyes by healing one of mine? You, who have sought Dumbledore's mercy and took it?"

There were moist, squishing noises as several Adam's apples bobbed.

"I see threatening your spouses has brought about a more steely determination to prove yourselves, but I don't think displaying a talent in healing spells of all spells to excel in should relieve you of the dread of having your fathers slain in front of your eyes, should it?"

Several figures on the left side moved uncomfortably, at one of which Warrington glanced before finally leaping forward.

"My Lord!" he burst out. "It's us who captured Potter, it wasn't Fauss!" Vigorous nods accompanied these words.

Fauss hissed as his entire body shook with rage.

Voldemort raised an invisible eyebrow.

"Is this true?"

Fauss removed his deadly glare from Warrington. "That's—I--"

Bellatrix gave a muffled moan, and Fauss' eyes flicked to her before resuming Voldemort's inquisitive red slits, and then they for some few seconds rolled back into his head as his eyelids fluttered.

"Don't answer – it is clear you lied."

"My Lord!" wailed Fauss, dropping himself onto his knees. "I—I didn't mean to! I--" He fell silent as Voldemort waved his large hand.

"Zabini, won't you spare Bella from her pain?"

Without stepping forward, perhaps afraid of the giant snake, Blaise waved his wand several times and most of Bellatrix's wounds and the blood on her throat and chest disappeared.

"There, Bella," said Voldemort, "that's the most you can hope for from us – we did not graduate with honours to become Healers."

There were a few snorts and chuckles of amusement.

"Incidentally, how did you get so injured?" asked Voldemort, already halfway in turning around.

Bellatrix wasted no time in jabbing her finger at Harry. "It was him!"

"Yes, I've come to that suspicion," said Voldemort, who indeed appeared to have, as he was staring at Harry now, facing the cage. "But the question remains, how did he do it?"

"He—I—he..." stuttered Bellatrix breathlessly, her repaired chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Yes," hissed Voldemort slowly, as Bellatrix fell silent, unable to answer the question, "I am not the only one to be left Confunded by Potter's remarkable whims. Inexplicable, was it?"

Nagini hissed at whom Voldemort was staring at.

"Highly so, my Lord!" breathed Bellatrix, jumping at the opportunity to redeem herself as she physically jumped to her feet.

"He does have a propensity of acting in ways that are unfathomable for some odd reason..." said Voldemort musingly, his slit eyes narrowed at Harry.

"Chance, my Lord!" screeched Bellatrix, glowering at Harry, and with her body swaying back and forth as though if it hadn't been for Voldemort, she would have gone again into the cage five seconds ago and tortured him overnight. "There's nothing special about him! Chance, luck, and friends far cleverer than himself!"

"Oh was that a compliment for Hermione, a Mudblood?" asked Harry, raising his eyebrows lazily at Bellatrix, who froze and whose mouth fell open.

"I—I wasn't—don't you act like you know what I'm doing, Potter!" she yelled, before spitting at the cage, leaving a bubbly, white blob to slide down one of the iron bars.

"So peculiar are the events that involve or surround him," continued Voldemort, as though he hadn't heard a thing from anyone, and with his eyes still narrowed on Harry, "I've resolved to rather consult a few sources before I attempt to do anything to him. While anyone else may enjoy subjecting him to a whole host of torture methods or even death, it is apparent I cannot without somehow experiencing some kind of misfortune, and I simply cannot afford to be set back again, whatever that setback may be."

"Oh so you're scared of me?" asked Harry. "I'm flattered, but how expectable of you."

Bellatrix was so shocked by Harry that words failed her – she choked and merely pointed her shaking finger at him, doddering from foot to foot, but looking anything but insulted, Voldemort waved his wand: Harry was yanked to his feet to join the rest who had done so when the iron doors had opened. Voldemort's eyes drifted over to Draco, whose aura seemed to draw into itself defensively. A smile curved Voldemort's lipless mouth before he stalked forward.

"Open the cage."

Nagini hissed excitedly, flicking her tongue. The figures behind Voldemort looked around at each other, and since Voldemort hadn't specified the person to carry out his order, what happened next could be described as comical: Massice stumbled over Warrington to get ahead, but Carrow was already waving his wand, and a spell shot out of it but fizzled into thin air, at which point the teenagers, now all on top of each other, stopped struggling with themselves, having remembered the effect of the dungeon.

"Oh yes, I forgot my grand enchantment upon this room," said Voldemort, as the throng behind him reorganized themselves into a neat wall once more. "Could not risk you somehow slipping out of my hands once more if you were to be captured, a possibility which was, I confess, furthest removed from my hopes until now. Only I and my Death Eaters are able to perform their magic in here."

Fauss looked aghast.

"But, my Lord, I too am one of yours to command until the day I die!" he cried, as he tore his sleeve off to reveal his left arm where on his wrist the Dark Mark was burned, the skin around it glowing red, which was suggestive of its freshness.

Voldemort slowly faced him.

"For how long have you bore your Mark, Fauss?"

"My Lord? I—er—not long, my Lord, just a few--"

"And so you think you are on the same level as those who have bore my Mark for most of their lives, do you?"

Fauss' face was bleached of all colour, and a shiver of satisfaction and affirmation ran across the wall of figures.

"I should not have to remind you whose father had misinterpreted my orders for Draco here and passed them onto his son. I should not have to remind you who had nearly killed him after I, in fact, never advised it. Fauss senior, as you have been informed, is not on assignment in Albania, and you should count yourself lucky to be – unlike your father – standing here and breathing. Your father displayed an incompetence that rivalled Terence Nott's, so it was only fitting he suffer the same fate. The only reason why you had been inducted into my ring of Death Eaters was that you had successfully lured Dumbledore into the Ministry, and now because of that he is no threat to me and rots in the earth as we speak – you were not inducted because of your thwarted supposed mission to kill Draco Malfoy. If there is one thing I do not appreciate is a lack of fierce and absolute diligence in what my followers pursue."

The absolute silence in the dungeon seemed to ring and spiral terribly. Voldemort was still steadily staring at Fauss, who wore a face of horror and who couldn't remove his gaze from Voldemort, transfixed.

"I do not enjoy it terribly when there are those amongst my followers who operate with foolish presumption, think that they know my intentions, pretend to understand me, nor do I like those with a selective sense of hearing. I trust you will find yourself humble and satisfied with the prerogatives you enjoy at present – being a door guard is as important a position as any, don't you agree?"

Laughter shook the Death Eaters assembled, but it fell at once when Voldemort resuming speaking.

"Twice, my Death Eaters, you have presumed me," he said quietly, as he started to pace and sweep his gaze across them, Nagini swirling at the ground before them. "Twice, my Death Eaters, you have attempted to kill Draco Malfoy supposedly on my behalf. And not even one of you can answer when I had bayed for his blood and explicitly ordered for his head at my feet. Goyle, what were my exact words regarding Draco Malfoy?"

When the face of a very wide Death Eater screwed up and his eyes narrowed at the ceiling as he furiously searched his mind, Voldemort continued, "Oh, Goyle, forgive my own presumptuousness. Let's find someone else who can recall events beyond their last meal: Dolohov?"

Dolohov, who had a long, twisted face, merely stared, gaping at Voldemort.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

A blinding flash of green and a whooshing noise later, Dolohov dropped to the floor.

"Contact a suitable member of the Rot Viler Gang in America and inform him of his promotion into my useless-seeming circle, Bella," ordered Voldemort, whereupon Bellatrix nodded profusely. "Lunch, Nagini."

Ron made a gagging noise as the giant snake started needlessly wounding itself around Dolohov and started to ingest him from his feet.

Voldemort resumed pacing in front of the wall of Death Eaters, his hand lazily aiming his wand at whoever he passed. "Mulciber?"

"Er—er—I—m—m—my Lord," stuttered Mulciber in alarm, his knees visibly shaking, while Voldemort watched him blankly, "Y—you—you had said—you have ordered – unequivocally ordered – explicitly – that Lucius' son was to be dealt with by yourself only!"

"I never said those words," said Voldemort coldly, gazing into Mulciber's steadily paling face.

Mulciber's stuttering breath could be heard by all, seemingly amplified in that heavily quiet dungeon, the silence as perceptible as gravity. Mulciber wiped the sweat off the top of his lip. "You said—you said it would be a headache relieved to be rid of Malfoy's spawn."

"Correct," said Voldemort, and he smiled at Mulciber before gliding away from him, continuing down the line. "Is there an order to kill Draco Malfoy contained therein, Rosier?"

"No, my Lord," said a tall man three figures from Dolohov's corpse. He had a round, slack face and stringy, thinning hair. His light fringe went over both his eyes.

"Correct, and so were the Death Eaters who stumbled upon themselves to carry out this fabled order proper in their actions?"

"Salazar's briefs, no," answered Rosier.

"And what was my tone, Muldber?" asked Voldemort, moving down the line again. "How exactly did I say these words?"

Muldber took a moment to answer. "I think, my Lord, you were not serious... I mean, of course your every uttered word is held with the highest regard--"

"I get what you're trying to say, Muldber," said Voldemort, in an exhausted voice, whereupon Muldber's face sagged with relief. "Let's refine my not being 'serious', as you have kindly offered: more accurately, I was being sarcastic, wouldn't you agree?"

There was a swift rumble of assenting murmurs.

"Ah, sarcasm," said Voldemort, with a jeering smile as he looked around them, and his eyes widened at Goyle, whose own eyes were narrowed, deep in concentration. "Yes, Goyle, big word, isn't it?"

The Death Eaters guffawed at him.

"It would be foolish of anyone to hope you could identify it, but that shouldn't have been necessary, for one should have nevertheless asked himself before diving into any action if indeed I had wished for Draco's murder. Can anyone recall any intention of mine to kill him at any point?"

Although these words were meant for his Death Eaters, Harry's now uncertain mind flew on a furious search for precisely any instant where Voldemort had been within cursing distance of Draco.

It streamed back to the night when he was in Malfoy Manor and holding onto Draco under his Invisibility Cloak, the words Voldemort had spoken: _"Draco? Reveal yourself, my pretty catamite. You know you deserved your punishment, don't you? Show yourself this instant and I may display some mercy."_ When Draco had failed to do this, Voldemort had lit the entire room in fire, but he had done that knowing that Harry would come out of it with Draco, and he had.

After Voldemort had recovered from a Killing Curse when Nagini had slithered over to him and what he now knew after his talk with Dumbledore's portrait relinquished the Horcrux contained in her to restore him back to life, Voldemort had sent a Killing Curse twice at him, Draco standing mere inches from beside him. Voldemort could have easily tried to destroy him as well, but he hadn't.

And then his mind whirled ahead to the night of the werewolf attack in Hogsmeade. _"Come to me, my pretty catamite..."_ Voldemort had crooned, wanting Draco back, 'chained to his bed', not to kill him, perhaps...

True to Dumbledore's words, Harry could not recall an instant where Voldemort himself had wanted to kill Draco but so many where his followers had, and nearly succeeded, and apparently arriving at the same conclusion, the Death Eaters shook their heads vigorously and muttered under their breaths.

"Precisely," said Voldemort shortly, and he turned slowly to face Harry again. "I hope none of you will ever again misconstrue my orders – you have nearly cost me a great deal."

There were more rumbles beseeching forgiveness – loudest of which were Fauss' – and some praising Voldemort's wisdom, but Voldemort waved his hand again, and silence fell immediately. "Leave the dungeon."

Without sparing a moment, the Death Eaters hastily shuffled out of the dungeon, leaving Nagini to continue her ingestion of Dolohov and Voldemort staring at the cage.

"No need for my incompetent followers to open it for me when I can do it better myself," hissed Voldemort, as he approached the cage. Smiling leeringly, he neared his flat face at the bars, and just when Harry thought he would bang it against the cage clumsily, Voldemort's face, together with the rest of his body, turned to smoke in front of their eyes and floated through the iron bars and then solidified inside the cage, and Voldemort was whole once more.

Ron, who had so recently been half-horrified, half-fascinated by Nagini eating Dolohov, couldn't remove his eyes from Voldemort's person, nor, it seemed, could anyone else; it was the closest they had been to him. They drew towards each other almost absent-mindedly.

"Always been a show-off, haven't you? How Voldemortly of you," remarked Harry.

Ron, Seamus, Hermione, and Draco gaped at him.

"And how Pottery of you to get yourself within my grasp, again," replied Voldemort, before he slowly approached Draco, leaving an impressed expression on Harry's face.

"Draco dear..." cooed Voldemort, holding out a pale finger to Draco's cheek, whereupon Draco closed his eyes, his face cringing or wincing. "How fortunate we meet again like this."

Harry moved aside closer to Draco, whereupon Voldemort looked aside sharply, his nostrils flaring, seeming to have now been snapped out of it rudely. The mound of hay at the left side of the cage caught his attention, and a cruel smile blossomed on his face.

"Woeful respects on your part?" asked Voldemort jeeringly, looking from Harry to the others, who promptly averted their gazes and focussed on something else.

"Had to do with what we've got," replied Harry. "So, Tom--" He enjoyed seeing Voldemort's nostrils flaring again. "--why did you go so out of your way, it looks like, for Draco then? Do you _wuv_ him?"

Voldemort, much to Harry's surprise, matched his derisive smile.

"Would you truly wish to you know, Potter?" he asked.

"I'm kind of piqued, yeah," said Harry, shrugging casually, while his fellows looked as though they couldn't believe he was acting like this, so nonchalantly, so fearlessly, but after Dean's death, something worse seemed to have been broken inside Harry. "I mean, I thought you never gave a thought beyond killing anyone in your path to get what you want."

Voldemort, still smiling that chilling smile, started pacing in front of them in the cage, while Harry could practically feel Hermione shaking, even though she was a good half inch from him.

"You seem confident that you know me," observed Voldemort quietly, and his eyes found Draco again, at which point there grew a sick fondness with which he stared and leered at him.

"Tell me, Draco, do you remember what happened on your second date with me?" asked Voldemort, in his high, clear voice.

Draco's eyes, which had been fixed straight ahead of him, darted to Voldemort and back.

Voldemort merely smiled.

"No of course you wouldn't; yes, I couldn't risk Dumbledore somehow revealing the contents of your mind, so I had extracted the events of that night completely from you. And I should perhaps make you aware that I discovered I was not the first to meddle with your mind."

There was a moment of silence.

"What?" asked Draco quietly, his eyes now unable to leave Voldemort's.

"It has been an unsettling and growing suspicion," said Voldemort quietly, as though he hadn't heard Draco at all. "First, it was Dumbledore's unannounced and lengthy disappearances at the start of the school year, no?"

He directed this at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but Harry's mind whirred around how Voldemort could have known of Dumbledore being absent every other day for sometimes as long as a few days.

"Then there was the fortuitous introduction of a man by the name of Horace Slughorn. Whether he was to offer a brief training to you or occupy a position on the Hogwarts roster is irrelevant. I wondered why Dumbledore had called upon him not so long after my rebirth. Horace, many years ago, had been subject to my passionate queries about them, and I had been foolish as not to be careful, but I had needed to know, I was dying to know, I couldn't hold myself any longer...

"But what finally convinced me that Dumbledore knew was when I was informed that Dumbledore had acquired a great injury – his hand had apparently been blackened and deadened most mysteriously, which I ultimately saw with my own eyes at Lucius' mansion when we were duelling. The way it looked rather echoed the effects of a curse I had placed on a certain object more than a generation ago, and then I had always known of his irritating sense of omniscience. But still, I may have been paranoid to begin suspecting, but I did suspect, and so I had acted, but now I will find out for sure: do you know what a Horcrux is?"

Harry's chest caved in with devastation, and his horrified realization must have shown in his face, for Voldemort's slit eyes glinted red with some between sad acceptance and quiet fury.

"Yes, I thought you might."

"What's a Horc—i—what?" asked Harry, his tongue flicking across his lips to moisten them, disregarding Voldemort's words in a feeble attempt at feigning ignorance.

"Do not take me for a fool, Potter," said Voldemort in a tight, clipped voice, his eyes glinting again, while his pacing started picking up the slightest bit of speed. "You must know!"

"Er..." said Harry, his heart beating fast, "…know what exactly?"

"_Legilimens!_" roared Voldemort wandlessly, suddenly furious enough to stir the hay beneath his feet.

He hadn't be prepared, and he had never mastered Occlumency properly, and so again Voldemort flew through his mind, and this time he wasn't careening softly and making his memories flutter peacefully back in their places – he was furious, he was tearing through it, viciously blasting aside those that appeared the slightest bit irrelevant, searching with wild passion, his mind ringing with the word for which he was searching: Horcrux. His mind blitzed through the images until a scene played out before his eyes of his and Dumbledore's conversation in his office after coming back from Malfoy Manor, and then one that happened just hours ago in that very same office.

"YOU KNOW OF MY HORCRUXES! DUMBLEDORE HAS TOLD YOU OF THEM!" boomed Voldemort, the sheer fury behind his voice blowing the hay around the cage and flattening them against the wall behind them. "Do not try to be smart with me, Potter!" Voldemort waved his hand, and a piece of parchment flew from Harry's robes to land in his hand. Voldemort put the parchment on which Harry had written Dumbledore's dictation on fire, and it shrivelled and fell as ashes at his booted feet.

"So!" Voldemort said in a ringing hiss, looking away from Harry and focussing his eyes rather on Draco, and quite visibly his fury seemed to abate somewhat, "I started to wonder of ways in which I could protect my Horcruxes, and so I engineered a way to conceal them where I knew Dumbledore wouldn't find them, where in the slightest chance he told you of them – for I had been told of your disturbingly close relationship with him – you, who later grew to have almost a severe an obsession as mine with Draco, would not think to look, and even if you somehow found them, consolidate them within a container that you would dare not destroy.

"After sending agents to collect various unassuming objects – Theodore Nott from within Hogwarts itself, Bella from her Gringotts vault, and a certain withered house-elf by the name of Kreacher through my dear Bellatrix again – I called Draco back for both reasons – find no offence in this, my young Draco – that I had indeed been utterly and delightfully entertained by him the previous night and that I wished to perform a complicated series of potions and spells that would neatly transfer my Horcruxes; the container in which all three of my remaining Horcruxes reside is of course Draco."

A wooden silence fell upon the room, and through which a gong seemed to pass, or at least through Harry's body.

Draco was glaring that stunned glare at Voldemort, and again his body seemed to be possessed by an unnatural stillness, as though his body wasn't pulsing naturally in tune with his pumping heart.

"You, Potter, of course know the events that surrounded that stimulating meeting of mine and Draco's, or at least those afterwards – Draco here decided to rather enjoy my punishment, and this temerity was what enraged me beyond my control. However, though I had intended to rebuke him for some minutes to follow, it was all but ten seconds before I lost to the great temptation of flitting through your mind in the throes of our united rage, a peculiar but very instructive phenomenon by which I learnt of the Malfoys' treachery, but then shortly after that meddling piece of mould Dumbledore somehow convinced you that you – what was the word you used? – _wuved_ Draco, whereupon I was stung and scalded by the repulsive, gangrenous infection of emotion and this supposed feeling of _love_, and so I removed myself from you at once.

"I opened my eyes to a beautifully wailing Draco on the floor and began to perform the complicated ritual, and this together with the brief torture – I confess my torturing skill great – left Draco barely able to stand on his own two feet; I laid him upon my bed, extracted the memory of this transference process from him, and left the room to call my Death Eaters for an important gathering, which of course you happened to be privy to, no surprise there.

"My attempt at diverting attention away from Draco has nearly resulted in his murder. You see, my Death Eaters do not know of my Horcruxes, even Lucius himself, though he had held one before. So you understand why I call him mine, Potter?" said Voldemort, with that hideous leering smile again, but Harry wasn't there to respond to him – he was on a whole other plane. "We're connected by far deeper vessels than you could have ever imagined..."

"_...__Were you the one to feel him in his deepest places, acquaint yourself with his soul more intimately than a frivolous peck on the lips--?"_

"_He wished, perhaps, to dominate and to own Draco in the most absolute sense – in body, mind, and soul."_

Harry struggled to keep himself from floating away from that dungeon.

"Since one cannot destroy that which is abstract and has been removed from its intangible plane of existence, since I needed to keep it from prying minds or otherwise my greatest secret of all would have been in jeopardy of discovery, and since I could not transfer the memory into my own mind because you and I, Potter, still at that time shared a connection of minds, I decided to transfer the memory of that process to none other than a person least suspected and furthest from being a Death Eater, our deceased ladyship and Lady of the Manor – Narcissa Malfoy. With a specially crafted spell of my own, at the same time I thrust her upon the table during our gathering, I transferred to her her son's memory.

"Whether she could access the memory or to the contrary, it will never be known, though I noticed that after I had imbibed her with the memory, she seemed to lose at least some of her mind; that strange, faceless smirk of hers was certainly indicative, though I confess I haven't known her for long; Draco, what say you? Had your mother always appeared as such, a little dreamy, smiling unawares at random?"

Far from answering, Draco slid some inches downwards on the wall, still glaring up at Voldemort, stunned.

With serene wonder, Harry recalled a permanent-looking thin, upward curl of Narcissa Malfoy's lips, right from the moment when they had visited Dumbledore to attempt to pledge an allegiance with him that failed, outside his office she had waited for Lucius with that strange smirk; when they had all returned from Malfoy Manor to Dumbledore's office and the Malfoys had sat together with Narcissa gazing at the floor with that upward curl of her lips; in Draco's memory in which he was raped and later taken by Lucius to a room wherein stood Snape and Narcissa expectantly, Narcissa sitting on the edge of the couch with that thin, almost sad-looking smirk; and right up to the moment in that corridor in Hogwarts, when they had fetched Draco after his great protector Dumbledore had died – Narcissa had worded her gratitude at him with those pale-blue eyes and yet again with that slight, infinitesimal upward curl of her thin, shell-pink lips.

Harry felt like floating from the world again.

"Yes, I doubt it, I doubt it. Beautiful though she was as is her son before me, it is hard to believe she was anything less than intelligent, though it was true she was a mere lady to the patriarch and little more than a housekeeper... So now, Potter, that I have shattered every sliver of your psyche, are you just as hell-bent to destroy me as you were minutes prior?"

Harry didn't answer – he was united with Draco in categorical shock.

Voldemort smiled coldly at him before he turned to Draco, and his face softened sickeningly.

"My pretty catamite... Do you think he's capable of it, capable of sacrificing you for me?"

The room shrunk and shimmered again before Harry's eyes; he struggled to keep it and everyone in it within focus.

"But no matter," continued Voldemort, his voice quivering slightly with his enjoyment at their faces, "Lord Voldemort always seeks to end the misery of those upon whom he inflicts it. Tell me, what will happen in a little over a fortnight from now – fifteen days, in fact?"

Harry's mind threw this question out the window as he felt each of his neck muscles calculate their movement as he turned his head to face Draco, for whom he would have died, for whom he would kill, which is apparently what he would have to do to him.

Voldemort turned to Hermione.

"Though you hardly look it, there's a legend that goes around that you are smart; why don't you tell me, little girl, what happens on the night of the twenty-seventh?"

Hermione was still gaping and her eyes were still bulged out of their sockets as she manically swivelled her head to properly face Voldemort, who raised a non-existent eyebrow, and when Hermione merely closed and opened his mouth wordlessly, not least because Voldemort had spoken to her directly, Voldemort remarked, "Surely you weren't overtaken by her on your academic performance, Draco, she's atrociously unresponsive."

Voldemort waved her wand at her, whereupon Hermione blinked and look the slightest bit coherent.

She stuttered, "Twenty-seventh, I—I—I don't know – twenty-seventh October..." But then after a second she went quiet, her face froze, she looked sharply up at the ceiling, and then back at Voldemort, now gaping with wizened amazement. "The twenty-seventh, twenty-seven days from the last one... there will be another--"

"Full moon, yes, how excellent of you to realize," interrupted Voldemort. "I rather thought this room was fitting, wouldn't you agree?" He peered up at the circular ceiling of the arena-sized room stories above them. "Do stick around for the next full moon – I daresay it will be quite the reunion..." And with a grin around them all, Voldemort turned to smoke again and drifted through the iron bars to remake himself beyond them. "In the mean time, do yourselves a favour and settle in – you're not about to go anywhere. There may be several persons that may frequent you, be it to check if you're still here and alive, offer you food, or perhaps practice their Unforgivables on you; it seems it is not only Draco who struggles with the least of evils. I on the other hand have appointments with a handful of Seers and our giant friends. Oh and won't you excuse her while she finishes her lunch?"

He strode passed Nagini to the iron doors, which slid apart as he approached, sliding back closed to put him out of sight, while his snake was left behind halfway through engulfing Dolohov as they watched.

In the bowels of the silence that bathed them with a palpable density, there were slimy and squishy noises midst the gasps from Hermione to accompany each of these as she stared wide-eyed as a fully grown man disappeared inch by inch into the forever stretching girth of Voldemort's giant snake. Nagini expanded, allowing each one of her scales to spread away from their neighbours and drift solitary upon her stretching skin, giving it a fabric-like, chillingly dotty look.

There was an observable art to how Nagini devoured Dolohov. Her jaw, unhinged a while back when she had started, walked over him, her head moving from side to side forward over his body as a thousand muscles rippled and undulated on the floor to give her support and as gradually the lump that was Dolohov crawled deeper and deeper inside her gut until Nagini struggled with the wide shoulders, at which point she started making strange noises not unlike that which she had made before disgorging Narcissa's legs, but shortly after, and with tremendous effort, she eventually scooped up Dolohov's head, and it slowly slid inside.

Hermione gave another rapid, breathy exhalation, tears swimming in her big eyes.

Draco, who had not seen a minute of this horror, was staring right over Nagini and through the iron doors, where his gaze was vaguely suspended.

But every horror was told on Ron's face as he watched Nagini hinge her jaw back, locking them into place, and then looking about with that animalistic inattentiveness, but she contradicted this the next moment as she flicked her forked tongue at them and then swiped it across her lips, sated. Bulging in her middle, she circled the floor, seemed to contemplate the small mound of hay next to the wall in the cage, but then after watching them carefully wheeled around and slithered heavily towards the iron doors, over the opened threshold, and out, the doors sliding closed behind her tail.

"That man…" breathed Hermione quietly, eyes so wide they were threatening to pop out of their sockets.

Her words, however, had no audience, for Seamus – the burning pain in his shoulder quite forgotten – had paled beyond the whitest pallor to make his light freckles stand out like unsightly sunspots.

Ron, though his fixation had slithered out of sight, his eyes still lingered where Nagini and Dolohov had so recently lain, his parted lips trembling.

And Harry was standing poker straight in the cage, every line of his body taut, yet there was something still slack about his posture, something down about his shoulders, something flat and distant about his gaze at the air in front of him.

"He's beyond it, beyond evil... There's simply nothing like him..."

But the silence at that moment seemed to affirm its authority, for Hermione went quiet again, and supreme did the silence rein.

"I have to die."

Almost every head collectively turned to Draco, who had not desisted with that stunned glare of his but turned it on Harry as he straightened himself.

Harry swivelled his head languidly towards him, and for a moment they merely looked at each other, Draco glaring at him, still looking stunning, and Harry almost too lazy to look at him with his fullest attention, for at several instances his eyes seemed to lose focus and his attention to scatter into the air between them. Nevertheless, Harry didn't give any reply.

"Are you listening?"

"He's lying – he has to be," stated Harry softly.

"That snake just... ate that man...!" whispered Hermione, pointing feebly at the floor where the giant snake had been minutes prior.

"Ate him whole...!" said Ron quietly, his face twitching, teetering on the verge of breaking apart with terror.

"Lying..." said Draco, his voice characterless.

Hermione turned to Harry. "But how could he have known all along? How could he have known that Dumbledore knew about his Horcruxes...?"

"He just told us, didn't he?" said Harry, still in a detached voice, still floating on his feet. "Dumbledore's disappearances, his hand, Slughorn..."

"But I remember nothing about it – nothing at all – it's impossible..." whispered Draco, eyes swimming as they gazed in front of his spread-out hands.

"And then I found you on your stomach on the bed in that room," said Harry hollowly. "I remember you couldn't even move your face properly, let alone stand up." Harry swallowed. "But... there has to be another explanation for this... He said he transferred this memory to your mother when he hit her with that blue spell to put her on the table, but I saw her before then, in Hogwarts, and she had that smiling thing she does – did – it was before Voldemort cursed her, I think I saw smiling like that... I thought I did... I—I think so, I don't know..." Harry lost himself in his tumultuous thoughts, desperately trying to remember if whether Draco's mother had indeed been smiling or smirking in that strange way... He must have seen it... But it had been dark in that corridor... And he had been high-strung right then – he had been worried about Draco and furious at Dumbledore and Lucius for not doing enough... Had his mind played tricks on him...?

"So what is it?" demanded Draco, removing his stunned gaze from his hand and pinning it on Harry.

"I—I don't know..." Harry answered truthfully. As sure as he had been all this time, now, however, the facts and events seemed to blur and swirl and bleed into each other until he didn't know what was which...

"Doesn't matter. I don't remember her doing any such thing. My mother wasn't mad – she never smiled like that. It's you and him that're spouting all this stuff."

"Just like the Mona Lisa... can't tell if her smile is happy or sad..."

"What's this now?"

"I don't know..."

"Potter, the last person to feel confused should be you," snapped Draco, biting each word.

"Don't you remember what happened at the villa, though?" asked Seamus, holding onto his shoulder before he realized he could move again; he subsequently went over to the cage bars, resolutely keeping his eyes away from the mound of hay at the wall that buried his boyfriend. He sighed in relief when he pinned his shoulder against the cold bar.

"You mean when he became almost invisible or something?" asked Harry, and then continued in a dry tone, "I thought it was just my bad eyesight playing tricks on me again. I mean, I didn't have my contact lenses by then. Then again I thought I saw Draco's mother smiling when I still had my glasses but she apparently wasn't, so hey, don't look at me."

"We all saw it, I think," said Hermione, looking from Ron to Seamus.

Ron nodded and made vague hand gestures as he said, "Turned all pale and see-through or something – weird."

"When was this?" demanded Draco, paying each one of them a stunned glare.

"When you and Ron were fighting," supplied Hermione, with a suddenly tight voice, remonstrating Ron over with her own glare.

"I turned pale and see-through?" said Draco, raising an eyebrow severely, his voicing carrying a clear suggestion he thought he was the only sane person in the cage.

"Well, yeah, you just did," answered Seamus, tears visible in his eyes. "I could see the couch through you; you just shimmered for a moment like you had one of Hermione's Disillusionment Charms – just dissolved for a moment, but you were right pissed, though."

"And what's that got to do anything with me having... with..." Draco trailed off, perhaps unable to handle the thought, but there was nothing fading about the glare with which he pinned each of them moreover.

"You hissed too," said Harry, resuming his blank stare at the iron doors in front of him, "when we were trying to get you to open the door to your parents in that room with those rippling lights."

"Hissed?" said Draco, rearing, his back hunching, seemingly ready to strike.

"You did it again just before Voldemort showed up, didn't you?" asked Ron.

Harry's heart gave a thunderous lurch against his chest as he whipped his head to Ron and then to Draco, his green eyes fixed upon grey ones.

"He did," he said, marvelling at his own words. "But I thought—I thought it was that snake – Nagini."

"No, I'm quite sure I heard it closer than where _she_ was," said Ron, and a shiver ran up his body, making his eyes shut deeply for a moment. It was possible he was imagining Nagini as close as Draco was to him.

"So it's just like when I used to do it – when Voldemort was near, my scar would burn... And you were hurting when he touched your face just now... Does your... your... anything of you hurt or burn like mad when he's close or touches you?"

Draco's glare at him didn't falter, still standing poker straight next to him, but then his eyes wavered from his, and they misted up a little.

"My stomach, and my intestines... right all the way down to my..."

Harry had been just about to ask, 'Your what?' but then understanding blazed inside him, and so did his cheeks.

"Your arse."

As recently as Draco had been enjoying giving him that demanding, if stunned glare, now, however, he couldn't look him in the eye.

"Naturally," said Harry. "He raped you up there--"

"Do you know what's good for you, Potter?" asked Draco quietly.

Harry shut his lips.

"Right," said Draco bracingly, "so you know what this probably means, don't you?" he asked in a lofty little lilt.

"And what's that?" asked Harry without looking at him, but then he said sharply, "We're not killing you."

"Do you want him finished or not?" countered Draco calmly.

"Yes, but not like this," argued Harry. There was a huge part of him that didn't believe this conversation had started, never mind it had arrived where it was now, and he thought Draco also wasn't fully in the moment – no Slytherin could readily give up his own life so altruistically, he was sure; where was that guarded instincts of self-preservation that characterized their nature? "We'll find a way."

"Oh, like you found a way to discover the location of Voldemort's Horcruxes after Seamus here kindly destroyed the almighty note for us?"

"Yes, Voldemort just took it now and burned it – it was that piece of parchment he took from me."

Draco looked short for words for a moment.

"He can't live – that's what I know," he said finally.

As he stared at a steely bone protruding under Draco's cheek, Harry remembered the vow Draco had made that night when he had been repulsed by his bum: _"I'm gonna kill him – I'll make sure of it if it's the last thing I do."_ What another beautiful irony, and it could be the greatest of all.

A thousand things to say back flitted through Harry's mind, but they withered while they hung on the tip of his tongue. They simply weren't true, simply weren't enough, simply futile.

And all of a sudden it truly dawned on him what had exactly happened in the last few minutes: if he wished to destroy Voldemort once and for all, he would simply have to destroy Draco as well.

Something large and round seemed to swim up slowly from his stomach and lodged into his throat; tears started smarting in his eyes, and he too stood with an unnatural stillness as wave after wave of realization crashed upon him.

That illusive dream – of ultimately surviving this, ultimately being with Draco and surviving until the very end, of ultimately having unforced sex and love-making with him – everything shattered and fell into pieces before his eyes. The hay beneath his feet melted and melded to become a seamless carpet of a dull brown, the iron doors dissolved to become two grey clouds which grew and grew until his tears had grown too much for his eyelids to catch, and so they spilled down onto his cheeks, ran down to the tip of his chin, where they were suspended for the barest of moments, clinging onto their maker for a final hope, but then they fell a great fall, flailing and wobbling to twinkle at the dim, yellow torchlight and finally dropped into the lava of straw on the ground.

He tried several times to speak, but the lump denied him the air to speak, and so he swallowed against it terribly, once, twice, thrice – it didn't remove it, it didn't force it down, but it forced him down to the floor, where he sat with his legs sprawled haphazardly in front of him, his arms hanging lifelessly on his sides as mere limbs, and he didn't care who saw him.

"_If he wishes for my death, then it will so be; there is nothing I can do…"_

'_...The Dark Lord holds more than evil or Dark magic in his arsenal, Draco; he seems to wield a penchant for wooing fate to any of his slightest whims.'_

"I can't lose you, Draco..."croaked Harry, in a watery voice, staring open-mouthed at Draco above him, tears coursing down his cheeks.

Draco looked down at him, and he seemed not to have anticipated how his face looked. After a moment of staring with something akin to surprise at him, Draco lowered himself to the ground, Harry's eyes descending with him, and sat next to Harry, appearing unable to do anything other than stare into his rupturing eyes.

"I can't lose you... not after... everything... not after... everything...!"

Draco still didn't know what to do but merely stare into his crying face, but Harry flung his arms around them, and Draco gripped him fiercely, his breath quaking against his neck while Harry howled into his.

Ron, Seamus, and Hermione watched sadly as Harry and Draco cried in each other's arms.

Surely there wasn't ever more fitting a time that these words from Parvati Patil could have been truer:

_Are they ultimately star-crossed lovers, really never meant to be, or will the universe somehow shift aside for them to conquer, as they had done so many things?_

Harry started fighting with Draco's robes, grappling for purchase of his back, clawing at it. He wrenched away from Draco and tore the robes off until Draco was half-naked in front of him.

"There's nothing!" he cried in a tearful lilt, throwing his warms up childishly, but then he started scratching Draco at different places on his torso, perhaps trying to scratch the Horcruxes out of him. "Nothing, nothing, nothing! He's lying! He's lying!"

"Harry, you're hurting me!" cried Draco, sniffing profusely.

"But there's nothing!" continued Harry shrilly. "There're no marks, no signs, no shapes sticking out – nothing! How can you have three Horcruxes in your body, that's bloody mental...!"

Harry threw himself against Draco, and they fall onto the hay, where Harry cried into Draco's chest.

"It can't be... It can't be... not after all of that... AahaaaDraco...."

Draco's face screwed up and he buried it inside the crook of Harry's neck as he too held fiercely onto Harry, their chests heaving into themselves with misery, but then Harry suddenly jerked off him and started grooming Draco: he smoothed his fringe and the little stray strands back from Draco's face, across which he smeared Draco's tears as though painting him, all the while whispering under his breath, "I love you, you know I love you, I can't lose you, you know I can't ever lose you..." He started to chant this, his grooming growing more and more frantic until Hermione grew alarmed and called Ron over to him.

"Mate," began Ron, his own face looking tempted to twist and lose itself to the sheer misery that was in every line of Harry's body as he feverishly beautified Draco – shaping his eyebrows, brushing back his hair, clearing Draco's tears and mucus, while his own tears and mucus fell onto Draco's chest.

"Harry, please, mate, just..." But Ron apparently couldn't finish his words as he looked from Harry to Draco, watching as Harry's hand flew about Draco's face – an endless loop as Draco cried even more at Harry's worrying actions, producing more tears which Harry could clear away from him, giving him something to do.

Ron sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "Harry, please, just... let's talk about what we can do for now... let's talk about what's coming... talk about anything... do anything... Do you know scissors, rocks and papers? Or at least that's what I think it is."

"Rock Paper Scissors," suggested Seamus as he abandoned the iron bar and came over to them, watching sadly as Harry wiped more tears and more snot and tucked another straying strand of hair behind Draco's ear. "You know how to play it, don't you, Harry, Mugglers we are you and I? We could teach Ron here."

"Can't lose him, can't lose him, so beautiful, beautiful Draco..."

Ron's eyelids fluttered furiously. "Harry, fuckin' hell, snap out of it, please, mate, you can't do this to yourself?"

Seamus looked aside as Ron's voice cracked oddly. Indeed, Ron usually didn't show emotions at this end of the spectrum, and fittingly, seeing Ron starting to cry jarred Harry out of his mind loop of fretting over Draco: he froze from what he was doing and stared with slightly parted lips at Ron.

"Look what you're fuckin' doing! You're acting fuckin' paranoid, can't you see that?" yelled Ron tearfully, eyes red for the first time.

Harry merely stared at him as he would an unfolding wonder.

"Just stop, mate, just... stop!" Ron hid his face with his knee, his frame trembling slightly in front of a gaping Harry, while below Draco looked so beautiful and immaculate one couldn't tell he had been through two duels and locked in a hay-strewn cage.

Harry slowly raised himself from Draco, sniffed, and sat back against the wall, watching Ron cry for the first time ever.

Hermione very quietly lowered herself next to Ron, appearing hesitant to touch him.

"Don't fuckin' touch me!" moaned Ron in a muffled voice, his face cunningly hidden by his knee, arms, and robes. He must have sensed what Hermione had been tempted to do.

"I'm sorry," murmured Harry, but it wasn't clear to whom these words were directed. He wiped his own face and stared humbly at his palms. "I'm sorry."

How funny it was that he had been repulsed by Draco because he felt Voldemort owned a part of him after having sex with him twice, felt that he couldn't truly call Draco his, but now he found out that Voldemort own more than just a part of him, more than just his bum– far more.

"I can't kill you – I'll never kill you, Draco."

"_...It is his choices that unwittingly sustain me after all."_


	9. Essence of Aphrodite

**Chapter 9**

**Essence of Aphrodite**

Minutes later after Hermione gave into the temptation of using on Harry's face the potions they had bought from Adelaide's Apothecary despite the fact that they were shrunken and therefore a waste to do this, the huge iron doors grumbled as they slid apart with enormous reluctance. Harry, whose swollen eye and purple spots looked considerably and surprisingly better, saw Fauss jumping out of a camping chair, clearly embarrassed, and glared daggers at Blaise as he strode past him, trying to appear intimidating even as a door guard. Blaise, however, didn't humour this demeanour, as he gave not the slightest glance in his direction, nor did give one in theirs as he approached them, laid a tray with five small bowls, and swept out. Fauss muttered some low, threatening words at Blaise before the doors closed.

They stared at the dull gruel sitting lifelessly in the five bowls.

Ron's stomach growled.

"That Bludge Bar was shrunken – it was barely a meal," bleated Ron, as though defending his stomach.

Hermione reached for the bowls through the bars and handed each of them one.

"What is this?" asked Seamus, his lips curled at the bowl, while he hung at the iron bar again. "Looks like something a rabbit shat."

"Doesn't look as if contains any range of nutrients, never mind the presentation," observed Hermione mournfully.

Ron smacked his lips tentatively as he took a taste before he said, "Rabbit shit's positively pudding compared to this." He coughed, blinking wildly. "They wouldn't put poison in this, would they?"

Hermione gave a great cynical snort but didn't reply.

"I think poison would be better than what we're in store for, it looks like," commented Seamus.

Complementing these words perfectly, and the dungeon apparently worked so as to allow spell-casting to the minors again, the next couple of days to follow were those of immense hardship until Draco, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Seamus grew calloused and almost desensitized to the visits paid by Blaise, who in addition supplied their atrocious food three times a day, Massice, Carrow, and Warrington to practice their Unforgivables.

Tossing aside bravado, they had desisted from using Ron, Hermione, and Seamus as targets on which to attempt their Killing Curses, unlike the other group, and rather substituted them for the iron doors, though with brimming willingness they tortured them rarely for less than an hour. Warrington was first to master the Cruciatus Curse and could perform it with ease by the end of the third day. To follow was Carrow, Blaise, and then Massice.

However, though they were aggressive, demanding, and relished every opportunity to flaunt to them that they could make them do whatever they want – or otherwise they would call not Voldemort, but his dear and most passionate follower Bellatrix, who Harry, though every invented and to-be-invented curse word would readily fly and hatred that would literally leave him sick would burgeon even at the mere thought of her, couldn't deny was best avoided – they were mere wimps compared to of what the other group, which also compromised of the two of the boys who had killed Draco's parents, was capable. The horrors they went through had even pushed to the back of their minds the fact that Draco was a Horcrux himself.

After the group learnt that they couldn't hold Harry under their lesser Imperius Curses for too long, they resorted to torturing him longer and more severely than the rest, by which Harry became the most tortured of them all, and by the end of the week he could cloyingly claim he was almost used to the Cruciatus Curse, though at first it always came with the same excruciation but then tapered out as his heightened tolerance took over.

Evidently one of the weakest willed of them, Seamus, after a mere meting out of five Cruciatus Curses which lasted less than five seconds each, gave into their sick whims, one of which now was to have sex with Draco; the Slytherins seemed to be extremely fascinated by gay sex for some odd reason, perhaps because they had never seen or imagined it in their life, for it was simply removed and unheard of in magical societies, never mind those of pureblood.

Draco gave a strange glance at Harry, who had seen this and rather thought Draco was actually looking for permission from him as his boyfriend – something that caused his chest to flutter both pleasantly and uncomfortably. He was too abashed to perhaps nod his head in agreement, and so he merely blushed at the hay, furiously ripping some stalks apart, and since he neither agreed nor dissented, and since Seamus' screams were starting to grow a little too gruff, potentially signalling he was on the verge of spitting out pieces of his lungs, Draco didn't fight as Seamus crawled over to him with trembling limbs, his eyes downcast to the floor, his face sweaty and blazing red.

One of the Slytherins gave a long, wheezy laugh.

"Do him chicken-style!"

"No, doggy-style!" laughed another Slytherin. "I wanna see it properly!"

"Chicken, man!" protested the first Slytherin

"Okay, okay!" giggled the second Slytherin. "Why don't Malfoy sit on top of it?"

The Slytherins all guffawed as they nodded in consensus.

"Go on, Malfoy! Take the reins! Ride that rocket to Merlin's moat!"

Its debauchery notwithstanding, Harry couldn't help but be fascinated about just what was going to happen. The Slytherins laughing fizzled out of his vision, and his focus became exclusively on Draco and a flushed Seamus, who was scrunching his eyes shut, fisting his hands, and moving his legs about uncomfortably as he faced the far-seeming ceiling, waiting on Draco.

Draco paid not the smallest mind at the other Slytherins as they burst out laughing at random moments while he unbuttoned himself and Seamus, who had now taken to covering his red face with his hands, but Harry could spy a rock-hard bulge in his pants.

He watched as Draco divested his robes, the pale-blue discreetly frilled silk shirt he had been wearing underneath, his Wizarding belt with that wide loop meant for his wand, his sleek navy pants, his satin black socks, his snakeskin shoes, and finally his emerald silk Barmees, at which point, quite strangely, the Slytherins suddenly became quiet, until they released fresh noises of mirth when Draco pulled Seamus pants down and his penis sprung out and throbbed in erection, clearly laughing at his excitement even as he hid his face chastely.

Draco licked his lips as he sat on his haunches next to Seamus' spread-out body, seeming to be psyching himself up. Harry found this sexy, much to his confusion, but then his own penis was throbbing ferociously against his pants, and then it gave a mighty lurch that almost had him climaxing when Draco smoothly and slowly swung his pale gorgeous leg over Seamus and arranged himself on top of him. Harry swallowed to moisten his drying throat. He was floored at himself – he didn't know why he found this act of Draco about to have sex with another boy so enthralling; he should feel violated and cheated, should he not?

Draco looked up at the Slytherins as he gestured at Seamus' erect penis.

"Won't get in – it needs some oil or something."

The Slytherins stared at him as though he had expatiated on some mathematical model. Then their eyes bounced about each other until one said, "Well, why can't it work?"

Draco looked up at the speaker quietly for a moment; Harry could practically hear a thousand derisive replies to these words whirling through his mind, hanging on the tip of his tongue.

"It simply can't. I need some kind of lubrication... If I could borrow a wand for a sec..."

One Slytherin snorted while the others looked at Draco wordlessly again, boundlessly confounded, and then another loped out of the dungeon with alarming eagerness.

"Thank Merlin he didn't make him suck him off," whispered Ron to Harry, as the remaining Slytherins muttered at each other, frowning down at Seamus and Draco as though trying to work out the mechanics of what they were about to do.

"What?" asked Harry.

"I said thank Merlin they didn't make Draco suck Seamus off – that would have been..." Ron gave a great shudder.

"What's that?" asked Harry, who had an inkling he was supposed to know something about this 'suck off' business, and sure enough, Ron stared at him disbelievingly.

"Sucking off?" asked Ron. "You don't know what sucking someone off means?"

Harry looked away from him, feeling that familiar sense of inadequacy, though he also felt a fair amount of irritation at Ron, who was speaking as though he knew everything there is to know about intimacy now that he and a certain girl were official.

"Well, Hermione—she—she--"

"Ron!" gasped Hermione, incredulous.

Ron blushed violently.

"I don't wanna hear it anymore," declared Harry promptly, shaking his head resolutely. He didn't care if he didn't know what sucking someone off meant, but he would be damned if he would have to hear what Ron and Hermione did behind closed doors.

The Slytherin who had left came back – after matching Fauss' glare as he came in through the iron doors – with a bowl of a yellowish oil substance.

"Can't complain anymore, you," he said, thrusting the bowl into Draco's hands, whereupon Draco took it, dipped his whole hand into it, and gently grabbed Seamus' manhood; Seamus came instantly, and since Draco was decidedly unprepared for the dollops of semen to shoot upwards and jet onto his face, he flung backwards wildly as he wiped his face profusely as though Seamus' semen burned.

It was quite the anti-climax for Harry, who hadn't known he had quietly been egging them on. Perhaps it was because in the sexual act that was not to be now, there may have been a chance of purification, of washing away at least some of what disgusted him about Draco. It was better for Seamus to have sex with him, someone he knew and liked, and someone who was human, who did not look like an abomination ripped from hell itself and landed upon natural earth. Harry watched as Seamus shook violently, his abdomen twitching, his hand fisted in his face, and his stilted breath coming out sharply and rapidly. However, a part of him did feel relieved that he wouldn't have to see Draco having sex with any other person than himself, something which has never happened while the contrary had on several occasions.

After this disappointing incident, perhaps in need of more immorality, the group of Slytherin boys even started taking to role-playing with them, and a kind of role-playing of their worst nightmares. Distinctly using their preferences as ammunition, it was fittingly Seamus, who despised these moments more than anyone else, for though one largely scarcely remembers what they did, and even if they did, in scattered, fading clips, he apparently recalled enough to know that he had had sex with Hermione on more than a handful of times; he could barely look at her in the face, and he wasn't alone the only person to act this way.

From the eighth day Ron too could not look one of the Slytherin boys in the eye after he too had been forced out of his comfortable niche of heterosexuality, and Harry, Draco, Seamus and Hermione watched as Ron 'sucked him off'. At the beginning he was gagging more than he was sucking, as strips of saliva hung at his lips while he gingerly stroked the boy's penis, but was then forced to deploy his mouth again, his cheeks blowing out with the shape, his throat bulging out slightly when the Slytherin pushed in just a little too deep for Ron, who again started gagging, spasming, and retching dryly.

Harry had never seen anything more disgusting in his life.

The other observant Slytherins were doubled over, evidently finding something amusing in gay sex, or perhaps amused at the Slytherin boy having the audacity to enjoy being sucked off by another boy. Then again it could be argued a blow job was a blow job, whether it came from a girl or boy. At least that is what the Slytherin argued to his colleagues.

So comfortable the Slytherins were finding themselves at their expense, by the tenth day's stretch, they were even testing out more than just their Unforgivables on them. One time, the group of Slytherins, following a torturing session by Massice, Carrow, Warrington, and Blaise, came in with a vial of purple-pink potion that by the mere colour of it sparked much apprehension in Harry instantly. The Slytherins chuckled mischievously as they drew nearer, each making strides to touch the potion and marvel at it.

"Got it off that tiny shop tucked behind Malik's Malice ʼn Mania corner store on at Knockturn's!"

One of the Slytherins gave his funny wheezy laugh as he threw his head back before his eyes searched out Harry's.

"Let's use it on Golden Boy here!"

"Yeah, Malfoy's pucker probably got roadmaps on it, so much he's enjoyed himself."

"Why not Finnigan?"

The Slytherins roared in plain reminiscence of Seamus' early ejaculation, and fittingly, Seamus flushed and pouted at the ground.

"He couldn't even—Malfoy just tickled him, and he--!" The speaker jerked about wildly as though suffering epileptic fits, imitating Seamus' moments of ejaculation, which spurred his companions' mirth.

"I know!" stuttered another Slytherin, one hand still clutching at his stomach. "How about Weasley?"

"Ew, I don't wanna see a Weasley shagging! Let him keep his traitor-ing bodily fluids to himself!"

"The Mudblood?"

"Argh, now that's just boring, innit?" said another Slytherin.

"Fine, Potter, then."

"Oi, Potter, come here," commanded one Slytherin; Harry lazily came to his feet and stood in front of the gate of the cage, which one Slytherin opened and hauled him out. "Drink this here, go on."

"What is it?" asked Harry, who had grown used to their company to such an extent that asking this kind of question felt commonplace.

"Don't ask questions, yeah," replied the Slytherin dismissively. "Come on, gobble it up, up, up, there you go... How're you feeling, Hero Boy?"

The others shook with quiet rumbles of chuckles.

"Quenched," answered Harry, handing the vial back to the Slytherin, who together with his peers was gazing at him attentively; Harry raised his eyebrow.

"When does it start working, Bode?" one Slytherin asked impatiently.

The Slytherin called Bode shrugged.

Seamus gasped. "It's that fuckin' Bludger-head bloke who terrorized those--!"

"Seamus, fuckin' hell, learn to speak when it's bloody appropriate!" whispered Ron angrily.

"They nearly killed a person!" argued Seamus in whispering volume as well. "And you, Ron Weasley, are telling me about appropriateness?"

"It don't matter now, does it?"

"Of course it does. They still go back to Hogwarts every day, don't they?" said Seamus, as the Slytherins discussed why Harry wasn't acting up yet, but little did they know that Harry's anus was starting to itch.

"No they don't..." said Ron unsurely, and in a way that invited contradiction.

Seamus rolled his eyes midway to the ceiling. "I get that we can't know if it's day or night outside, but why do you think they only come together at once at a certain time? Haven't you realized that? I think it's only Fauss and Blaise who don't go back to school because they don't wear uniforms and they have to look after us, don't they?"

"You can't expect me to see all these sort of things, can you?" argued Ron, frowning defensively. "What do you think that potion does, anyway?"

"Baffles me," answered Seamus, biting the insides of his cheeks as he dolefully watched Harry as Draco was, albeit less desperately.

"This shit's just fuckin' that – shit!" complained one Slytherin angrily.

"It will work just now," said Bode defensively, appearing to be steadily deflating as he watched Harry, who, however, was trying extremely hard to keep up the act that everything was pleasantly fine, even as he felt as though he wanted to stick something such as a fork into his bum and dance up and down. "Besides, Essence of Aphrodite is an aphrodisiac, isn't it? It won't show properly if it works – you can probably only feel it; feeling a little hot, Potter?"

"Huh? Oh I'm just as cool as a cucumber, thanks," croaked Harry, blinking rapidly, and he was just starting to dance. He wished again he could impale his bum with something – something perhaps blunter and tubular and just pump it back and forth inside him... "Fuck..."

The Slytherins exploded at once.

"It's working!" wheezed one Slytherin, gaping at Harry, who was looking extremely discomforted and who was beginning to make as though he were jogging but remaining at the same spot, trying to rub his bum cheeks together to produce some kind of friction between them for his puckered hole which was burning there.

"Oh, Salazar's snake-some soul...!" laughed Bode, staring at Harry with immense interest.

"Lock the cage," ordered the Slytherin with the wheezy laugh, practically panting as he gawked at Harry.

Bode outstripped Harry over to the cage and locked it with a tap of his wand, cackling at Harry, who hung on the bars and slowly slid downwards as he stared despairingly at his friends.

"Draco... Ron... Seamus... Fuck..."

Roars of laughter abounded behind.

"We're not opening that anytime soon, mark you!" cackled Bode's friend maliciously, while the two largest other Slytherins enjoyed Harry's torment quietly, looking mildly amused.

"Vic, you're buck-smackin' right!" said Bode. "No one's going to fuck you, Potter, you can bet on that! Don't look at them! Which reminds me!" Bode rifled through his robes and produced something akin to a soap bar, which he took over to the cage, opened – pushing Harry to the floor when he tried to escape inside – climbed in and ordered at Draco, Ron, Seamus, and Hermione, "Put this on. Come on, up you get."

Ron avoided his eye.

"Feeling hot yet, our little Gryffindor hero?" teased the Slytherin named Vic.

With great reluctance, Ron and Seamus heaved themselves to their feet, Draco and Hermione following.

"Rub this on your hands and on your pricks. You don't have to worry about that, I guess," said Bode to Hermione derisively, "unless of course you're hiding somethi--"

"You shut that filthy mouth of yours!" Ron shouted at Bode's forehead, at which point Bode punched him in the gut.

"Why don't you take your own advice, eh? Sit quietly there and rub this shit on! Don't make me take out my wand. You wanna try something too, Finnigan, Malfoy?"

"No thanks," answered Draco, rubbing calmly on his hands the offered substance with the texture of ice-cream and a yellow-lime colour rather resembling that of avocado but with tiny spots of blue such as the holes in a pumice rock.

"And on your pricks too, yeah," ordered Bode aggressively, watching closely as they applied it to their hands and as Seamus turned around modestly to open his fly while Draco merely lowered his own pants still in front of Bode and Hermione quite unabashedly.

"Virgin," sneered Bode to Seamus, as though this was some fierce swearword. It did, however, have the same effect as it would have had it been one, for the back of Seamus' neck flared a deep pink, though the term was only applicable if one was speaking of heterosexual virginity; Seamus' bed had rocked quite a number of times with Dean in it.

"I suppose this is to make sure we don't try to help him with this little problem," said Draco casually, stroking his penis with the substance.

"How sharp of you, Malfoy. Yes, it does exactly that, so if any of you try it, well, let's say a bee sting's gonna feel like a tickle compared to what this lotion does." After sniffing at the bar in his hand he chuckled coldly as he looked over his shoulder to see Harry swaying on the hay from side to side, his eyes shut tightly, and his cheeks pink.

"You seem to be very fascinated with puckers," observed Draco, as he rubbed his fingers together, studying the lotion as it seeped into his skin and evaporated, thereafter pulling up his pants and fastening them.

Bode looked at him while his Slytherin friends released loud snorts despite themselves.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Whatchu say, Malfoy?" asked Bode, extending his neck threateningly like an Australian frilled lizard, or like a cobra expanding his hood.

"I said you seem to be fascinated with everything gay after you were apparently on that gay couple's 'backs' according to _The Hogwarts Howler_. What's the matter, feeling a little curious, Alex? Wanna try out some pucker too?"

"Al, you're going to let him speak to you like that?" laughed Vic, but even as he spoke, Draco was stumbling back after receiving a warm back-handed clap from Bode.

"You shut that dirty mouth of yours, Malfoy! You're the last person to be accusing of anybody being a poof!"

"I wasn't accusing," replied Draco quietly, rearranging his jaw back into place and holding a hand to his pinkened cheek, "merely stating what seems like fact."

At the fresh laughter from his Housemates behind him, a hot-faced Bode shouted, "Look what the Dark Lord did to you! Look where you're with Potter! And I know for a fact that you and Zabini tried something once!"

"And just how would you know that, Alex?" asked Draco. "Keeping tabs on me? Checking me out in secret, are you?"

So recently flushed was Bode's face, it now looked paler than Draco himself.

"I never did that! You know you're lying!"

"Of course I am, Alex, of course I am. Just wanted to get a rise from you," said Draco with a smile, retreating to the wall, sitting against it, crossing his arms, and staring at Harry.

Alex ravaged his robes for his wand undoubtedly to Cruciate Draco.

"For fuck's sakes, Al, he got you on that round. Get out and see this, mate! He's really starting to crack up now! Check him rock like that!"

His lips drawn together furiously to make a puckered hole on its own, Alex Bode turned slowly as he glared at Draco and then finally stepped out of the cage, but before he did this he roared at Seamus and Hermione, "Did you to put it on?"

"Yeah, I put it on, for fuck's sakes!" snapped Seamus crossly. "You wanna check?" he asked, as he thrust his middle forward, offering his zip to Alex.

Vic released his dying, wheezy laugh. "Al, just get the fuck out, mate, it's just not your day today!"

But Bode instead sent a spell to Seamus' proffered groin, but Seamus quickly swung his hips out of the way. When Bode stomped out of the cage, Seamus stuck his tongue out at his back and muttered something to the tune of, "You stinking sack of bagpipes," but he quickly straightened his face when Bode turned around to tap the cage locked.

"Er, sorry, you didn't check me," said Hermione, also thrusting her middle out.

Bode froze, trembling with rage, but then opened his eyes again and continued to Harry, who was swallowing, swaying, and contracting his stomach muscles interminably, but his anus continued to itch from deep inside, across his rectum, and around his sphincter. Bode kicked him and then forcefully smeared his hands with the avocado-like lotion.

"In case you try and finger yourself," he whispered darkly, and as he tried to stand up and return to his circle of friends, Harry grabbed onto him as though not wanting him to escape, but then he let go quickly, looking mortified.

"Nice, Gra—Hermione," whispered Draco, with an appreciative smirk, whereupon Hermione beamed discreetly at him and turned to furtively hi-five Seamus. Then they all looked back at Harry, who was starting to release sharp exhalations, still rocking left and right broadly.

"What's the worst case scenario?" Draco asked the Slytherins.

"Hold onto your pants, Malfoy, no doubt that's coming soon," replied Vic, without removing his eyes from Harry. "And I hope I'm here when it comes!"

"Sure that doesn't sound gay, Victory?" accused Bode, clearly attempting to redeem himself by disgracing Vic.

"Of course that doesn't sound gay, what the fuck makes it sound gay?" rapped Vic defensively, suddenly irritated.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck..."

Bode and Vic's argument died as they gawked back at Harry suffering like a circus animal.

Hauling himself up to his feet, Harry started pacing the circumference of the dungeon, uncaring as to what the Slytherin would allow him to do and what not. If only he had something such as a sausage or his wand... As he paced around he glared up at the Slytherins with reddened eyes, but the Slytherins laughed at him some more.

"You're all fuckin' sick, you know that?" he shot at them. "This is funny to you, is it? What are you hoping for? What do you think I'm going to try and do? Pounce on one of you and let you fuck me to the moon?"

The Slytherins' jaws nearly met the floor, but they quickly plumbed them back up and reattached them to their faces, and they hit back by guffawing loudly at him.

"You're nearly sick like him!" growled Harry tearfully, now really starting to tear up the dungeon floor.

"Oh I'm flattered, Potter!" crooned Vic.

"Sick in a different way, you cunt!" said Harry, glaring at them, pacing furiously, his bum burning hotly. He half-wished one of them would lose sense and rape him or something, that way he wouldn't have to live with the humiliation of initiating anything, but anything was better than this – anything.

"How strong's this potion, anyway?" burbled one of the two tallest Slytherins in a devastatingly deep base that all but distorted what he was saying. "How much was it?"

"Twenty-three Galleons," answered Bode, and continued with great relish, "worth it to see this! Strongest they've got!"

It truly felt as though it was the most terrible, the fastest-acting, most potent potion on the whole of planet earth.

Harry closed his eyes and exhaled sharply again, fighting to keep from glancing into the cage, to glimpse Draco... It would have been so much better, it would have been the best he could hope for...

He changed direction and started pacing the other way but then tripped and started writhing in the hay and to sob.

"Oh-hoh...!"

He continued to roll around in the hay for about five minutes until his hips started jerking by themselves, and by this time Harry was looking at anything and anyone he could use to relieve the hot itching. Finally giving in to temptation, he tore his pants and ran his middle finger through his crack, and it was as though someone had sprinkled hot sauce where his finger had been; Harry cried out loudly, tears leaking at the corners of his eyes, much to the amusement of the Slytherins, who were holding onto themselves as they watched.

"Oh fuck..." breathed Harry, and he started flinging himself randomly at the floor, his mind somewhere else, transported. He would never beg a Slytherin for it – never. He stopped flinging himself and attempted to finger his anus again, whereupon again he felt a burn beyond his imagination. Hissing in pain, his face screwed up again, and he exhaled sharply, his heart beating wildly – in plain fear and panic of his situation. He collapsed to the floor and started rocking again, moaning, and crying. Amidst gales of laughter, he kicked his trousers, underwear, and robes off completely and started rubbing his bum cheeks up and down against each other to create some indirect friction, but it failed horribly to make the burning itch go away, while he breathed from the hay a sickening, old smell of animals.

"Draco...!" cried Harry, tears now streaming on his face as his naked legs flailed about on the ground. "Seamus... please... Ron... fuckin' hell... someone..."

"Let's leave him, come on!" said Bode, and they began making their way past him towards the door, giggling malevolently.

Harry flipped over to follow them with his blood-shot eyes as they passed, more than half wishing one of them would change direction, whip out his penis, and just thrust it in him, back and forth, relieve him finally... But the Slytherins did no such thing, and the iron doors put them out of sight after sliding closed with a loud groan. Harry couldn't help a panicked and strangled sort of noise from escaping him. What was he going to do? He sprinted over to the cage while crouching and rattled the lock, but it didn't budge. He gazed despairingly at Ron, Seamus, and Draco, his desperation even far surpassing his humiliation that he could look them in the eye, begging one of them with his eyes.

Draco rushed over to the iron bars, gazing into Harry's face, which told a thousand pains. He reached for him through the bars and ran his hand through his sweaty hair and over his cheek, but he did not appear to have an answer. Harry crumbled in front of him and started moaning as he turned around and tried sliding up and down one of the iron bars, running it through his cheeks, and then finally – a gloriously cooling touch to his anus, which was on fire. It nursed his glowing anus, but it didn't reach that other, more monstrous itch deep inside, but it was still something.

Almost breathless with this discovery, he bent over even more and started sliding the iron bar through the crack of his cheeks, uncaring of what the others were thinking, how ridiculous he looked in their eyes – he simply couldn't care. He made involuntary, broken gasps and guttural noises as he stuck his bum out and oscillated on the iron bar. Draco watched on at this, looking appalled and pitying. When the iron bar grew warm, Harry moved onto the next one.

"Harry," said Draco, who was looking scared for Harry.

As he continued sliding up and down, he turned to Draco silently, his face shining with drying tears.

"Blaise and I once did this once, when we were really, really small... He—he sort of licked up my arse with his tongue and..."

Harry stopped sliding.

Draco swallowed, trying very hard to fight his grimace but failing miserably. "I guess I could – you know – try it with you, I suppose..."

"You're gonna rim him?" breathed Seamus incredulously, rearing slightly.

"I'm going to what?" asked Draco.

"You're gonna rim him," replied Seamus, open-mouthed as Harry resumed his sliding movements, unable to wait for the conversation to resolve, "sort of like massaging his rosebud—I mean--"

"I wouldn't know what rimming is!" said Draco hotly. "I'm not--"

"Gay?" suggested Seamus lightly.

Draco didn't respond but gave a huff before he bravely said, "Stop," to Harry as he took his bum and directed it through the gap of the iron bars. He spread Harry's cheeks aside to reveal a considerably widened purple 'rosebud', though 'violet-bud' would be more fitting. Draco hissed sympathetically, watching as the anus, which seemed experienced, burned purple, puckering in and drawing out impatiently. After swallowing nervously, seemingly regretful of what he had gotten himself into, he put his face nearly into Harry's crack and spit into it, thereafter rubbing it out with his fingers to cleanse the area, but Harry hissed painfully. After whispering his apologies, Draco delved in and hesitantly stroked Harry's anus with his tongue.

Harry moaned loudly.

Ron closed his eyes and looked away, shaking his head; Hermione's eyebrows were resting atop her forehead as she looked on with her shoulders slightly tilted into Ron as though trying to wrench herself away but still horribly fascinated by what she was seeing; and Seamus was breathing slowly and deeply, his mouth hanging open, a more-than-noticeable bulge in his pants.

"Dean never wanted me to fuck him, but he would do this to me before he buggered me..." whispered Seamus breathlessly, unable to tear his gaze away from Draco and Harry.

"Fuckin' hell, mate!" squealed Ron. "You keep that kind of shit to yourself, for the love of everything magical!"

Harry exhaled airily as he dropped his forearms to his knees, wishing to push back against Draco's tongue so it could get further inside where it was burning most sorely.

Draco had his eyes closed as he rimmed Harry, swiping his tongue broadly into the crack and pasting a generous amount of saliva there.

"No, go inside, make your tongue go inside!" moaned Harry, scrunching his face again and shaking his bum impatiently into Draco's face.

Draco glared at Harry's black hair over his back before he sharpened his tongue and easily pierced the anus, which by the potion had been widened as though Harry had been having anal intercourse for years. Harry sighed and reared again, replacing his hands on his knees and pointlessly trying to push back against the railings, which didn't budge in the slightest, but after only a few seconds he suddenly withdrew, turned around, and started swaying from foot to foot.

"It's not working," Harry said calmly, shaking his head. "It's not working. Where's my bloody Firebolt when I need it...?"

Seamus snorted and chuckled, the only to find this funny.

"I was doing it properly, wasn't I?" asked Draco, in what sounded like a hurt voice, but Harry didn't have the patience or tolerance to pay attention to this – he needed satisfaction now.

"It isn't working, it isn't working," lilted Harry still in a calm voice, while his eyes darted around the dungeon, looking for some object he could use. "I swear if I see the day I get out of this, those Slytherins won't know what hit them. I hope they hurt you or something – I'll have the great pleasure in burning the skin off their bones – toast them just like that. How can someone just make this kind of potion for the fun of it?"

"I expect the potion was too strong to be distributed legally," said Draco, "that's why they got it off Knockturn Alley, isn't it? Or maybe it wasn't meant for humans but horses or something."

"Either way I'm fucked," said Harry tersely; Seamus snorted in amusement. Harry hopped from foot to foot until he found himself rubbing up against the bars again, but it simply wasn't enough, there was simply a much bigger burn in his gut – he felt as though his intestines were on fire.

At about six o'clock his hips started rocking again by themselves. He rolled in the hay again, crying liberally, trying to rub his bum cheeks together, trying to finger himself but experiencing great pain like hot sauce on his lips, but hot sauce on his anus, which had grown so purple it seemed black.

"Draco...!" cried Harry desperately, crocodile tears falling into the hay.

"Just come here!" said Draco desperately. "I can rim you again! Harry, just come here!"

But Harry was in no such state to do so – he was rolling in the hay, nearly flinging himself on it again, all the while his legs flailing, naked from the waist down.

At that moment the iron doors ground open to reveal Blaise carrying a tray with six bowls of that vile gruel. He strode into the room, frowning very slightly at Harry rocking on the floor, crying his lungs out. Blaise's eyes searched the other's faces as he approached, several times turning with still a slight frown at a half-naked Harry moaning with hay stuck in his hair.

"Oi, you fuckin' traitor," said Draco suddenly, "can you serve us anything besides this salted owl shit?"

As Harry's cries abated to moans, Blaise didn't answer but lowered himself to the floor, upon which he laid the tray.

"Oi, fuckin' traitor," repeated Draco, his face pink and shining with sweat. He seemed to be talking for the sake of it, or perhaps to distract Blaise from the pathetic sight that was the Boy Who Lived, his boyfriend. "Why don't you stuff that shit up your arse? No, how about worse – in your mouth for that matter?"

Blaise straightened himself gracefully, turned on the heel of his boot, and began sauntering towards the door.

"Oi, fuckin' traitor, I asked you a question and you better answer it... Bliase, you bastard... Blaise, wait..."

And Blaise surprisingly did, staring down at Harry quietly.

"Why, Blaise, why?"

Blaise's scapulas rose as did seem his hackles, but still he didn't turn to face Draco, nor did he reply.

"You came with us to the Bracing Bash, Blaise. You saw me in the infirmary with Goyle. I've known you since as I as far I can remember. You were my first fuck, mate."

"We were kids just fooling around; we barely knew what we were doing. We were like five or something – I could barely stick my thing up your arse."

"But we liked it just as much, didn't we?"

Blaise turned slightly to glance at Draco but faced the iron doors again. Meanwhile during this interchange, Harry's moans were reduced to soft sniffs.

"And what happened after that, when you were six or so?" Blaise continued. "Suddenly you were as straight as a pole – shagging left, right, and centre like there was no tomorrow right up until fourth year. There's not a girl in Hogwarts or even in southern Wiltshire that you haven't touched."

"Says someone who has shagged more than half of Hogwarts himself!"

Blaise turned again to glance back at Draco, and there was something of a proud smirk on his lips, but Blaise promptly reigned himself in ruthlessly, and then he said with a return of his colourless voice, "I shouldn't stay long."

"Tell me, Blaise, do you still think about me in that way?"

There was a squishing noise of someone clearly swallowing amidst Harry's soft breathing and occasional sniff as he rubbed his feet against each other in immense discomfort.

"What do you mean?" asked Blaise tonelessly.

"You know what I mean," drawled Draco. "You grew out of it and became Blaise the Charmer – can seduce even the panties off the Chastity-Charm-choked... Do you think about me?"

There was another squishing noise.

"Hardly. After what You-Know-Who did... to you, I mean... It's hard to... It's not the same..."

"But I haven't lost my gorgeous looks, have I?"

"No, you haven't," coughed Blaise, tinkering with his tie clip uncomfortably still with his back to them. He glanced aside at Harry writhing quietly on the floor.

"You said You-Know-Who," observed Draco quietly, breaking some hey stalks, "you didn't say the Dark Lord."

"Doesn't matter either way, does it?"

"Oh I think it does," replied Draco. "But you have a mind of your own you can use. I never knew you for a spineless sheep – that was one of the things I liked about you. You had something of your own; it was like you didn't listen to the world – you were in your own little bubble. You didn't laugh at the pathetic jokes the host threw out that everybody rolls on the floor for. If you didn't like a chic you wouldn't give her the run-around but you'd tell her straight to her face. You didn't go with the rest of the kids, and that's how we became friends at four, actually..."

There was a long pause of silence and a sniff from Harry.

"Funnily enough, that is exactly what I thought about you – still think about you."

"I didn't know that," replied Draco, smiling sadly at the hay stalks in his hands that he was tying together.

"I have to go. Finish your lunches," said Blaise, as he made to stride out of the dungeon, but Harry had lunged at his legs, and Blaise's wand was now in his face after darted he backwards.

"Blaise," said Draco, "Blaise, before you go, I—I—I have a favour to ask of you..."

"No favours," rapped Blaise at once, as he stowed his wand and lifted his foot to step towards the doors.

"Blaise, please," implored Draco, looking at the ground, however. "If there is anything I have ever asked for... You know I don't do favours, and I never ask for them when I can do something better myself, but this I can't do – I can't help Harry..."

Blaise's foot hung in mid-air for several seconds, but after which he put it to earth and turned to face Harry sitting on his haunches on the floor, gazing desperately up at him.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked, with another delicate frown.

"It was Alex Bode and Victory Malinga and them," said Draco at once, hope seeming to lift him from the floor to grasp at the iron bars, staring at Blaise with widened eyes, desperately wishing to help his boyfriend out. "They gave him some kind of aphrodisiac potion – really aggressive, the most aggressive I've seen! Not that I ever needed one of course..."

Blaise's frown worsened. "So Bode and Malinga gave him an aphrodisiac," he said, waving his hand vaguely and dismissively, "and how am I suppose to help with that? Let him fuck me?" he asked, with a small pop of unnerved laughter.

"No," said Draco, breathing deeply, "you fuck him."

There was a moment of silence.

"They gave him an aphrodisiac that... what... reverses the effect and makes him irresistibly cock hungry or something?" asked Blaise, with a raised eyebrow and less surprise than what one might expect; perhaps it was because he was more acquainted with the capabilities of his Slytherin peers than an outsider was.

"Precisely," answered Draco, at which Harry nodded like a dog, peering up at the tall build of Blaise.

Blaise nearly let his jaw escape his decorum to the floor, but he quickly hauled it back up and started blinking a little too frequently and adjusting his folded arms.

"We—Wha—I—Who--" stuttered Blaise.

"Please, Blaise, I'm just asking for just this one thing," implored Draco.

Harry started swaying from side to side again on his haunches, nodding interminably Blaise, giving him an all-round childish look imploring an adult to give him some candy.

"Draco, come on..." said Blaise, utterly baffled by this, his eyes bulging at Harry below him. "This? This is... beyond... what I co--"

"Please," whispered Harry, moving about uncomfortably, swaying back and forth. "Please, Blaise."

"Please, Blaise," said Draco, begging Blaise with his eyes. "Just fuck him. Think of it as our ultimate threesome fantasy."

"That was when we were five and only knew Potter through your books, and we were just fooling around at the time – it was just a stage!"

"He needs you, just please, Blaise, for me if not for him. You can think about anybody while you do it... Think of me... I'll think of you... I'll wank with you – it can be the threesome we had wanted."

Harry crawled over to Blaise and without invitation began undoing his buckle and belt at record speed as he started to pant, the itch beginning to surge again. So taken aback by this was Blaise that he didn't react for some moments, but then he jerked backwards and hung onto his belt, whereupon Harry walked on his knees over to him again and yanked his pants down while making 'P' sounds under his breath as though saying, 'Please,' but not finishing the word.

"I beg you, Blaise, let him do it – fuck Harry Potter."

Blaise neither responded to these words, nor did he protest as Harry took him by the arms and pulled him down onto the hay-strewn floor. With heavily shaking hands, Harry finished unclasping the buck, didn't bother to slip the belt out but went straight for Blaise's zip, which he pulled down, thereafter yanking Blaise's trousers down to his knees, but when he attempted to push Blaise back to mount him, Blaise resisted and said, "Oh no, if we're doing this, I'm always on top."

"Whatever!" growled Harry, as Draco gave a slightly amused smirk. "Just... just...!"

Blaise, looking highly uncomfortable with this, slipped his trousers past his knees, reared, and then muttered, "_Lube Me Up_," under his breath with his wand pointed at his penis, which promptly shone with lubricant in the dim torchlight. Harry panting hard under him with a deeply beseeching look, Blaise swallowed as he set his jaw, trying to appear in control but plainly out of his comfort zone. He cleared some of the hay around them, pulled Harry strongly towards him – a wave of red ran down Hermione's skin – and started masturbating, at which point Harry rose from the floor and looked at the process despairingly. He dropped his torso back on the floor again, and his legs started moving about uncomfortably again. He tried taking deep breaths, but it wasn't working in the slightest.

"Why aren't you... why aren't you...?"

"Sorry if I don't find you particularly stimulating!" snapped Blaise, with more bite than was necessary, but it was true that as a heterosexual teenager he was about to have sex with Harry Potter, another boy. "Fuck!" he hissed under his breath, impatient with himself, and he looked up momentarily at Draco, whereupon his fist stopped pumping his penis. He stared at Draco masturbating as well as he leant his face through the iron bars, staring at them, and quite suddenly Blaise had no problem in lacking an erection, as his penis gave a vigorous throb which gave it enough stiffness to attempt penetration. Still looking nervous, and moving quickly to utilize the precarious stiffness before it faded, Blaise took hold of Harry's misbehaving thighs again and pulled him further towards him with his strong arms, at which point Hermione grew just a little redder.

"Haaaa... fuck...." whispered Harry in a disturbingly deep and gruff voice as his eyes rolled to the back of his head with the sheer relief of it all when Blaise's penis breached him after much toil.

Concentrating hard, Blaise frowned down past Harry's flaccid penis at his own sliding in and out of Harry's anus. It bent with each thrust and sometimes slipped out because he was struggling for stiffness again, while Harry made guttural noises with every thrust and while his thighs trembled, his hands crushing the hay beneath them.

Ron was looking down at the ground between his legs, rubbing his forehead interminably.

Hermione and Seamus were practically devouring the sight of tall, handsome Blaise Zabini sodomizing raven-haired, meagre Harry Potter.

And Draco was biting down on his lower lip as he watched them, gently twirling his hand around his own penis.

"Deeper – go deeper," demanded Harry breathily, his eyes shut tightly.

Pride seemingly getting the better of him, Blaise began doing all he could to perhaps draw some noises of satisfaction out of Harry, who, however, kept demanding he go deeper and faster, for Blaise rarely stroked that itch deep inside him, where it burned hottest, and so soon enough the sex grew just about animalistic such that one's stomach could turn with the decadence and sordidness of it. Now off his back and on all fours, Harry, with a hungry snarl on his face, was panting loudly, ramming himself back into Blaise as Blaise pumped forward into him, Harry's bum cheeks rippling with the impact, yet it still wasn't enough, despite Blaise being handsomely endowed – Harry still craved more and more; the best it did was tease that deeper itch; beads of sweat dropped onto the hay from Harry's frustrated forehead, his teeth bared in that snarl as he continued battering into Blaise's middle.

"Wait… wait…" panted Blaise, as his eyes flicked to a sweaty Draco, whose hand was a blur around his penis.

Harry then felt something warm coating his insides at the same time he heard Draco exhale sharply.

"No..." he breathed, his eyes growing wide in panic as he stared over his back at Blaise biting his lips, beginning to withdraw. "No, you can't..."

"I came, Potter," panted Blaise, as though this was an unassailable excuse, clearly trying to deter Harry from challenging his stamina.

"No!" moaned Harry, his voice cracking. He spun around and lunged to nearly take hold of Blaise's wand, but Blaise's hand struck as fast as a snake to swipe the wand off the floor. He pointed it at Harry threateningly as he dropped to his elbows, his chest – with beads of sweat, which Hermione was staring at hungrily – rising and falling deeply, his fringe pasted to his forehead.

"Don't try it, Potter."

Like a child staring through the window at a toy denied him, Harry stared hopelessly at Blaise's deflating penis, the feeling to cry growing stronger as more stiffness ebbed from it.

"I realize it's not your fault, but you're fuckin' insatiable! Control yourself, mate!"

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT I'M LIKE THIS!" exploded Harry, quavers beginning to make him tremble from his thighs again and right to his arms. "YOUR FUCKIN' SICK HOUSEMATES DID THIS TO ME! DON'T YOU DARE BLAME ME! SO JUST SHUT UP AND FUCK ME! There must be a spell to make you hard again, isn't there? You must know it, being charmer and all like Draco apparently used to be, eh? Sudden Starkers Spell, Contraception Charm, Lube-Me-Up Charm – what else you've got?"

"There's no spell to make you hard again – you're spent, you're spent!" answered Blaise in a clipped voice, as he began dressing himself; desperate, Harry flung himself at him again, whereupon Blaise raised his wand, but this didn't worry Harry, for desperate times called for desperate measures, and so he pushed the arm away to tackle Blaise, but then something occurred to him – the wand, it was long enough to...

"Don't make me do it, Potter," warned Blaise, who had taken Harry's moment of realization to gain the upper hand. He pointed his wand into Harry's forehead; Harry looked up at it, going cross-eyed.

"Hex me," he said quietly.

After a moment of confusion, Blaise asked, "What was that?"

"Stun me!" breathed Harry. "I wouldn't feel anything! Time will pass just like that!" He nodded vigorously as his hips started rocking all by themselves again, even grinning. "Come on, hex me like you wanted to!"

Still confused, Blaise frowned open-mouthed at Harry, who impatiently took Blaise's hand around his wand with both of his, pressing it into his forehead. "Come on! Do it! I never thought of it!"

"I—I—me too, didn't think of it... Why didn't I think of it...?" whispered Hermione, very late, sounding disappointed at herself for not having this stroke of genius before Harry, while her cheeks still glowed violently red as she stared at Blaise gleaming torso.

"ʼCause you were enjoying the show a little too much, maybe?" muttered Ron a little testily, still glaring at the hay between his legs.

"Salazar's knickers, why didn't I think of it?" hissed Draco moments after, pausing in wiping his semen-covered hand with his robes to slap his forehead.

"You were enjoying yourself too, maybe," muttered Seamus.

"As if you're any better," Ron shot at Seamus, as he sank his eyes down to Seamus' pants, where at his groin there was a dark stain.

"I wasn't tossing off, at least," argued Seamus, as though this made him any better than Draco.

"Which you wouldn't think makes you a better person just getting off by just by looking," said Ron. He shook his head, and just before he bowed his head again between his legs, he glanced up at Harry and Blaise, looking at Harry naked (his shirt in the physicality of the sex had found the floor), and Blaise's hairy, caramel thighs gleaming in the torchlight with sweat. He blushed and glared down at the floor again, taking a whiff of his hand to smell the avocado-like substance that had prevented him for helping out his best friend, even in such an intimate way.

"Er..." said Blaise. "Okay... What do you want me to use?"

Harry shook his head and threw his arms up, clearly saying anything that would bring him into a comatose state, anything was better than this! He had a Slytherin pointing a wand at him, but he didn't care anymore.

"Right," said Blaise, swallowing, setting his jaw again to make the bones of his prominent jaw stand out. "_Stupefy!_"

Harry froze and rocked forward to nearly thump headlong into the floor, but Blaise caught him and gently pushed him back onto his back.

"He couldn't have put himself into a more comfortable position," remarked Blaise sarcastically, before he started dressing himself.

"Thanks, Blaise," said Draco sincerely, as Blaise did his buckle.

"That did not just happen... Never will you ask of me anything ever again, Draco, do you hear me?" said Blaise, shaking his head disbelievingly as he straightened his clothes.

Draco smirked sadly. "As if I could, Blaise, as if could..."

"Ah, that note of mystery in your voice again... I guess this is where I ask, 'And what was that about?'"

Draco shook his head languidly.

"This time, Blaise, the mystery is just too big to believe."

"Oh so I'm excused from asking, how nice."

"What are they planning for the full moon, anyway, Blaise?" asked Draco.

Immediately, something about Blaise's countenance shifted. The bones stood out against his jaw line again. He didn't speak for several moments.

"Have no clue," he finally replied.

"Oh, Blaisy Babes, tell me."

This term of affection clearly achieved some kind of effect on Blaise, who again blinked immoderately and against whose cheeks even more bony ripples stood out.

"Can't remember when last you called me that."

"Which of course should tell you how desperate I am."

"I don't know, honestly. The older Death Eaters won't speak of it, if they know, which I doubt – the Dark Lord tends to operate alone, and they're just there for the ride, it seems."

"You seriously don't know?" asked Draco, raising a pale eyebrow.

Blaise shrugged. "I must leave now." He glanced at a Stupefied Harry on the floor. He closed his eyes and turned around saying, "Can't believe I just fucked Harry Potter."

"How was it, honestly?" asked Draco, with a mischievous smirk.

Blaise didn't answer but strode ahead towards the iron doors. "Your dinner. I'll be back in twenty minutes to collect the dishes." He gave one last look at Harry staring vacantly at the ceiling, unmoving, and then as he strode past, Fauss again jumped to his feet at once as though lazing in that camp chair epitomized the limits and disgrace of his charge. He glared at Blaise, cracking his knuckles, but he didn't do anything and ultimately took his seat again as the iron doors closed behind him.

For several minutes, no one spoke, each in their own little world, some staring at Harry's frozen body.

"You guys fucked when you were five?" asked Ron, a sweat-heavy eyebrow raised lazily.

Draco shrugged. "Like he said, we were kids just experimenting – we didn't know what on Merlin's sweet earth we were doing."

"And then you just did an about flip after that to the straight side?" enquired Ron further.

Draco shrugged again.

"Just like that? Wow, you wasted no time, did you, shagging at five and then sustaining an apparently straight sex life from, say, six onwards. You can't say you haven't lived your life."

"And I suppose you were a virgin before you fucked Hermione here?"

"I thought keeping your virginity would be something to be proud of, yes, but your Slytherins friends ruined that, didn't they?"

"You thought it was something to be proud of to be a virgin at fifteen?" asked Draco incredulously.

For the first time, doubt crept into Ron's face. "Well yeah," he said, nevertheless. "Isn't it supposed to be like that? Keep your virginity until you marry and then give it up to your wife... or husband?"

Draco merely stared at him open-mouthed. "Oh no, yes – yes, of course, that's the ideal situation, sure," he replied, "but that's unrealistically ideal, I would think."

"And some of us don't think about shagging our friends when we're five," remarked Ron.

"Some of us clearly haven't lived," drawled Draco, twisting his neck and setting off some mean-sounding bone cracks.

"Some of us are trying to live the right way," countered Ron.

"And there's justice and peace and kindness in the world," deadpanned Draco. "Just look where we are today! Harry had to be fucked by _my_ best friend after he was spiked with Dark potion!"

"I've never seen anything sexier," remarked Seamus.

Hermione caught Seamus' glance and blushed.

"Do you think the 'right way' exists, do you?" asked Draco angrily.

"Of course it does!" said Ron, not swayed in the slightest.

"Oh!" trilled Draco. "Do enlighten us. Just what is the 'right way', hm?"

"This isn't!" said Ron, pointing at Harry. "That's not right! Zabini fucking my friend – that is not right! You having Voldemort's Horcruxes – that is not right! You and Harry – that is not right!"

"I should have known all along!" screeched Draco. "Salazar's snickers, and then you think you're better than me when you're obviously jealous I have Harry and you don't?"

"What?" squawked Ron at once, "I don't—I'm not jealous of you and Harry, that's barmy and you know it!"

"I don't know anything of the sort. I know that you've been against us since day one, and I certainly know you had thoughts about it after what your girlfriend here said in the infirmary that morning about you – what were your words, Hermione? – 'thinking' you were attracted to Harry!"

"I'M NOT A FUCKIN' PILLOW-BITER!" exploded Ron, rising from the floor. "I'm the sanest one in this bloody world! Am I the one who calls _petite_,_ beautiful _boys to their beds to fuck them? Am I the one who enjoys some night-time reading of _Witch Weekly_ after my boyfriend has buggered me senseless and then 'rimmed' me? Am I the one who has bubble baths with slimy creeps like you? Am I the one who stuff potions down people's throat so that they could beg them to fuck them? HUH?"

Draco stared at Ron, shaking his head as he smiled.

"My black soul, you really are overly possessive of Harry, aren't you? You think you're like his older brother or something; you think he belongs to you than anyone else...! What do you dream of, Ron, tell me, hm? You and Harry ambling about hand in hand through a beautiful prairie under the Aurora Borealis? You just can't handle seeing Harry being happy with any other man other than yourself, can you? Did you feel the same way last year in Harry's woeful attempts at getting a date for the Yule Ball, or do you just feel that way when another boy gets Harry's attention away from you?"

"Mate, I swear, if you don't shut that stinkin' trap of yours right this second...?" breathed Ron, rising slowly from the floor, a mad, quiet, bull-like fury in his eyes.

"I suppose if Bode hadn't made us put on that stuff of his you would have gladly fucked your little best friend, wouldn't you? That's sick, you do know that?"

"You'd know everything about what's sick, wouldn't you? Fucking other boys at five! Fucking that indecent snake not once but twice--!"

"Voldemort raped me!" shouted Draco. "We did NOT have sex – he raped me!"

"AND GOOD FOR YOU! YOU DESERVED IT, YOU FERRETY PIECE OF OWL SHIT!"

"FUCK YOU, WEASLEY! I DON'T NEED TO HEAR THIS FROM A BLOOD TRAITOR LIKE YOU OR SOMEONE WHO'S OBSESSED WITH HARRY POTTER--!"

"YOU WERE OBSESSED WITH HIM TOO! BLAISE SAID YOU HAD BOOKS OF HIM! BOOKS! AND YOU COULDN'T LIVE A DAY WITHOUT PLAYING PRANKS ON HIM AT HOGWARTS, COULD YOU?"

"THERE!" screeched Draco victoriously, "you just admitted you're obsessed with Harry!"

"I admitted no such thing!" yelled Ron furiously, lips trembling.

"WHO GAVE SOMEONE A BLOW JOB? WHO KISSED ME AT QUASIMODO'S?"

"BOYS! SHUT UP AND SIT THE FUCK DOWN! RON – SIT – DOWN!"

"That's right, listen to your girlfriend, Weasley! She knows what's best for you! Leave the pillow biting to us faggots!"

"Don't listen to him, just calm down, don't pay him any mind! Let's sit down!"

"Yeah, Ronny babykins, sit down. How about you release my frustrations on me? Push your unquestionably straight cock into my--"

"Draco, that's enough from you!" berated Hermione sharply at Draco, whose voice had grown airier and who looked light-headed after such exertion of shouting.

"I'm not obsessed with Harry," grumbled Ron, glaring at Draco through Hermione as he struggled to breathe as well.

"Of course you aren't," she agreed soothingly.

"It isn't wrong to want to protect him, is it?"

"No, it isn't, you're the best friend a person could ask for."

"I mean, I know he's capable of protecting himself, but he's still... you know... scrawny and short and as thin as a needle and the rest of it... and he—I--"

"I know what you mean, and there's nothing wrong with that at all."

"I'm the first person he saw of our world. I'm his first and best mate. It's just... seeing him with another bloke... it's sick... and... I don't know, makes me—makes me feel..."

"Left out? Harry will never forget you, Ron, ever – he loves you."

"Hermione!" growled Ron quietly, blushing purple.

"Like a brother, I meant."

"Yeah, and I—I also—I also – you know – like a brother too. Malfoy's the sick one. I'm not obsessed with him."

"Of course he's sick, Ron, he's a Slytherin," cooed Hermione, rubbing his back.

"Yeah, they're all sick like that. There's too much gayness happening around this year, what the fuck?"

"Sshh... I don't know. Let's just accept that Harry loves Draco—No, Ron, he really, really does, and I don't think he would kill him for Voldemort's sake."

"Merlin, Hermione, you didn't have to get all heavy."

"How so?"

"Bringing in the killing and all."

"Didn't you just bring up Draco being a Horcrux?"

"I really liked it better when you called him Malfoy."

"Hm, me too sometimes... But I like how he says my name with that voice of--"

"Hermione!" growled Ron, leaping off her as though she had turned into something else unlike her and otherworldly.

"What?" asked Hermione, looking largely unabashed. "I never hid it from you that—you know—I find him... cute..."

"That doesn't give you permission to say it either!" whispered Ron in annoyance. "And no, you actually have – it's the first time I hear of it since we knew him from first year, and I seem to remember you gave him a warm clap back in third year. Forgot about that?"

Hermione blushed silently.

"I'm flattered, by the way," Draco tossed at them.

A second wave of heat flushed Hermione.

"Let's eat!" she squeaked promptly, going over to the bowls on the tray at the bars, and they did so until some minutes later the doors slid apart to reveal the tall, foreboding figure of Fauss.

"You've come to do your routine check, I see," observed Draco.

Even Ron couldn't help a snort escaping him, whereupon Fauss' face glowed incandescently red, quite revealing his truth.

He strode forward into the dungeon, but then looked down at the floor and asked, "And what the hell is this? What's Potter doing out of the cage, and why's he Stupefied, and naked?"

"Blaise's work," answered Draco, checking his nails. "Had a nice little orgy session with him too," he mumbled.

"And why would Zabini strip him and Stupefy him?" demanded Fauss.

"Beats me," replied Draco. "Got a weird sense of humour that one."

"He's always been a little off the cauldron, that Zabini. These quiet ones like him... got something wrong in the head... Oi, Potter!" Fauss laughed as he kicked Harry, making him wobble rigidly. "Look at his mini-me! Salazar's soul, look how fuckin' tiny he is without his cape – no calves, no blocks, you can't call those thighs – a chicken can do better – nothing on his arms, look at his ribs – I can play guitar on them! They just make them smaller and smaller, don't they? I mean, look at you, Malfoy, you're even worse! Oh and of course they call it being _petite _and _dainty _as if that's supposed to be sexy or something! And you, whatever your name is, you're no better!" He jeered at Seamus, who between Harry and Draco was the least scrawny. "_Finite Incantatem._"

"NO!" shouted Draco.

Harry unfroze and blinked at the ceiling. He sat up properly, his hips grinding on their own again.

"Fauss, you idiot!" hissed Draco.

"ʼEy, you better watch your mouth for your own good, Malfoy! Potter, what's up? Feeling sexy?"

"You unStupefied me?" Harry asked hoarsely.

"Yeah, and so what?"

"You cunt," swore Harry quietly, looking at his hips moving about on their own, shutting his eyes tightly – the itch felt as though it hadn't left him, and he would be damned if he would start grabbing onto Fauss of all people. Where was Blaise?

"What did you call me?"

"A cunt," answered Harry simply.

"_Crucio!_"

It was a mere moment's relief, for he had grown too used to it, and beneath the numbed excruciation he could still feel his itch flaring.

Fauss kicked him, seeing that Harry was far from feeling any considerable amount of pain. He turned to the others and gave them a withering glare before he went over to the iron doors with heavy footfalls.

"Where's Blaise?" moaned Harry, at which point Fauss halted, spun around, and his eyes grew round at Harry.

"Oh, I knew it! Oh you've got to be shitting me! That fuckin' know-it-all that stands there and keeps quiet like he knows everything! You two shagged!" Fauss sounded delightedly astonished.

"Where is he?"

The iron doors swept open loudly to reveal the person Harry was most relieved to see.

"Blaise," he said desperately, "Fauss – he unStupefied me!"

"I can see that," said Blaise calmly, swaggering into the dungeon, his eyes taking in both him and Fauss coolly. "It hasn't worn of yet, I suppose."

"No, at all!" replied Harry, baring his teeth slightly.

"Whatchu two chattin' about now?" demanded Fauss belligerently. "Zabini, tell me you did not just shag with Potter here."

"What?" asked Blaise unflinchingly. "Why would I do that?"

"Because the first thing he said after I unfroze him was your name, and he's starkers, not to mention."

"So it would mean I shagged him after you find him starkers and after he said my name, then?"

"Well, what do you expect me to think?"

"I don't expect you to think at all, Fauss," drawled Blaise, as he swept past him and collected the trays, waiting on them to give him the bowls, which they did shortly, and when Blaise looked at them suspiciously after receiving only five bowls, Draco indicatively glanced at Harry, at which point Blaise shook his head subtly, but he nonetheless rose to his feet.

"What was that, Zabini? Think you're all high and mighty, don't you, just because you could heal Lestrange?"

"No, but because I still have a father and haven't tried to kill Draco on imaginary orders. Excuse me." And he swept past Fauss again, but not before Harry jumped to his feet and stood in front of him, hopping from left to right, eyeing him imploringly. "Merlin, Potter, aren't you demanding," sighed Blaise, forgetting himself.

"There it is!" boomed Fauss victoriously. "You two shagged! How disgusting!"

"I haven't had the slightest desire to fuck Potter, mark you. I was just about to tell him there is no – more – food – for him." He glared at Harry as though he were the bane of his existence, but Harry refused to back down.

"Whatever you say, Zabini, but I'll leave you to it. I'll be expecting you some few minutes later to come out, eh?"

Blaise raised his eyebrow highly, so impressed he was by Fauss' pun, of which Fauss, he may have thought, surely wasn't capable.

"I'll be out just now," he replied, now looking rankled by Fauss' smirk as he went over to the iron doors, which closed behind him. "Potter, for fuck's sake, I can't do this again. That was just... I couldn't..."

"Come on, just this one more time, I think it's getting better."

Harry found that he wasn't lying, actually – the itch at the top of his rectum felt to be assuaging.

Blaise scowled at him.

"Really?" asked Draco. "It's wearing off?"

"I think so, yeah," replied Harry, and whether he was fooling himself or not didn't matter at that moment.

After huffing irritably, Blaise nodded and scuffed his boot at the hay as though he were the shy virgin besides that he did nothing to initiate.

"You go, Blaise!" cheered Draco, punching a fist in the air. "Now how about some imagination this time, yeah?"

"Imagination?" hissed Blaise, glaring at Draco under his eyebrows.

"Yeah, give us a show! I think I enjoyed it as much as the others did! Oh, except ramrod Ron of course – he's unbend-ably straight."

"It doesn't fuckin' matter, okay!" growled Harry, who was standing on top of his feet now with discomfort.

Blaise swept his gaze around the cage to see everyone except Ron, who was again glaring between his legs, looking quite wide-eyed and anticipatory. Shaking his head woefully again, he went over to a panting Harry, who he picked up from the ground with embarrassing ease for Harry and slammed against the wall.

Seamus swooned. "Against the wall, bloody hell, against the wall...!"

"Blaise, you bastard!" lilted Draco, though he sounded nothing short of impressed.

Needless to say when the group of Slytherins returned to find Harry grinning dazedly at them while sitting against the cage, thoroughly shagged, naked from head to toe, and looking far from tortured by their aphrodisiacal potion, they were less than impressed themselves.


	10. Dilemmas of Death, Decadence & Debauch

**Chapter 10**

**Dilemmas of Death,**** Decadence & Debauchery**

By the thirteenth day of their capture the Slytherins had leaped to new heights in their immorality. So furious they were that Harry appeared not to have suffered as much as they had desired, they had thrown all reason and inhibitions into the wind, including that of the abhorrence of homosexual acts. Again it was profoundly apparent that the Slytherins, hard as it was to believe them homosexual, appeared to be doing it merely because it was against the norms of Wizarding society, such as one defaecating in public, or perhaps on stage. And of course they dared not touch Hermione for the unavoidable fact that she was of low, contemptible blood in their eyes, and that there was nothing sufficiently debauched for them about raping a girl.

Perhaps looking for the more effeminate-looking of them to appeal to things they were more familiar with – girls, they had tried to use Draco for their evil acts, but Harry had simply shifted in front of him, and it might have been that the Slytherins did not wish to endure the same injuries as Bellatrix had when she had nearly caused Draco harm by having Seamus sodomize him, so they left him alone. Of course particularly wishing to hurt Harry more than anyone else, and knowing that he cared much more for others than he did for himself, they had fought them to drag from the cage the third smallest boy: Seamus.

Seamus eventually at some point had no less than four penises poking into all of his holes. It was a ghastly sight to witness; Harry's stomach felt so concretely heavy with being so sick of it all that it couldn't even turn in unease as he saw Seamus coughing up bubbly semen through his nose as he sucked Malinga off and as his anus leaked with gallons of it while Bode and one of the tall Slytherins rammed violently into it at the same time, their semen and something greenish-brown trailing down Seamus' thighs and legs. Malinga viciously clapped Seamus, who was the only one fully naked, for coughing and gagging around his penis. Harry spat on the hay for the fourth time, trying to relieve his mouth of its excess saliva as he felt strongly nauseous.

The sounds the Slytherins made seemed almost as worse as the sight. The oldest of them, the two Slytherins, were making these deep, animal-like grunts as one banged in and out of Seamus' anus and the other his mouth, while Bode made panting noises and the occasional hiss with Malinga scarcely growling but largely breathing heavily as well.

It later seemed most of them were new to any kind of sex, never mind gay sex, for both Bode and Malinga – neither of whom was particularly striking in looks – couldn't handle their explosive orgasms and nearly collapsed on Seamus. Luckily one of the tall Slytherins wasn't finished with Seamus' mouth and so pushed Malinga off to fall into the hay, leaving Bode to rest on top of Seamus, catching his breath with half-closed eyes. When Bode and Malinga finally came to properly, Bode springing off Seamus and Malinga off the ground in embarrassment, one Slytherin climaxed with a muffled groan and a deep frown, spilling his seed into Seamus' mouth, and the other with a mere sharp sigh to shoot more semen into Seamus' anus.

After dressing themselves, cackling manly with each other, and jeering at Seamus crying, three of them left the dungeon, while Bode hurried Seamus up in recovering and getting up from the floor. It was a gruesome sight Harry thought would be hard to erase from his mind: Seamus hunched as he limped and plodded over back into the cage, his entire body gleaming not with sweat but with semen running down, and Bode giving him a half-jeering, half-repulsed smirk as he strode satisfactorily besides him. When Seamus entered after Bode unlocked the cage, the smell he came with was horrendous – it was a strong, sharp, pungent smell very characteristic of semen. Harry couldn't believe how much of it with which Seamus was dripping.

As Bode strolled towards the exit in an excessively relaxed pace, wonderfully sated, Harry together with the others approached Seamus with much apprehension as he plunked into the hay before them. There was a white pool of semen swirling in his navel, there were bubbles of it mixed with mucus running down his nose, pure streams of semen leaked from the corners of his lips, and his whole rear and the back of his thighs gleamed with it and that muddy brown slime as well, which appeared to be a mixture of blood and faeces.

Draco, Ron, Hermione, and Harry murmured his name and tried to touch him but gingerly, expressions of decorous horror and disgust on their faces, though on Hermione's there was also visible fascination, perhaps in seeing semen so naked as it was instead of being transferred from closed source to the other – penis to mouth or vagina.

"Those Slytherins have really outdone themselves this time," said Ron, shaking his head sympathetically down at Seamus as Hermione wiped Seamus' nose.

Seeing that Draco's robes were the most elaborate, hence they had much more material, she pulled his arm and so with them managed to wipe Seamus off completely before the semen could cake. When she came to wipe through his bum crack, Seamus jerked a little and hissed, while Ron and Harry looked aside, accidently glancing at each other.

"Sorry, Seamus!" squealed Hermione, and she became so ridiculously delicate in cleaning his crack she may as well floated completely over it.

"Those four were looking mighty chipper today," observed Blaise, as he stepped into the dungeon after the iron doors gave away. Fauss was just returning to his camping chair, ears glowing red. Blaise sauntered over to them carrying their dinner – grey, salty porridge.

"I'll bet," Draco murmured darkly, as he apparently couldn't help running his hand through Seamus' sweaty hair while he lay on the floor in the nude, covering his face red with humiliation, crying softly.

"And what happened to him?" Blaise asked. "You can't tell me he's not scoffing at the Cruciatus Curse yet – it's been nearly two weeks." He laid the tray in front of the gate.

Harry all of a sudden was very interested in Seamus' physique, scanning the nasty smear of smooth skin where he had been burnt, down to his light-pink knees, his slightly hairy shins, his pale feet, all the way back up to his sharp hip bone, to his flaccid penis based by a thatch of dark-ginger pubic hair. _Hm, I think I'm bigger than him_.

"Something worse, I believe," replied Draco, and continued with a shiver, "smells foul."

Blaise straightened up. With a frown, he twirled his wand and gave a swift glance at Harry, who was resolutely studying Seamus' body as though it were Adonis'.

"I could..." began Blaise in a casual tone, "...you know... maybe... you know... clean you up... hose you... you know..."

"Oh, Blaise, why didn't I think of that?" said Draco, slapping himself again.

"Because you didn't have a wand?" suggested Ron.

Draco ignored him. "Can you?" he asked Blaise, who whereupon nodded curtly. "Oh thank Merlin! We've been grimy for weeks!"

"You can stand up and I'll do it," Blaise said, as he glanced over his shoulder at the iron door.

Draco looked at the others indicatively. "Come on, Seamus, you want to have a makeshift shower?" he asked Seamus kindly. "Come on, yeah, I'll pick you up. Up you go..."

So the five of them stood up, Seamus looking unshakably at the floor and Harry acting similarly.

"Promise you won't try anything?" asked Blaise, as he stood poised to unlock the cage.

Draco gave him a demure look.

Narrowing his eyes, Blaise tapped the lock and opened the cage, at which point, Draco brushed past him delicately, smirking.

"_Aguamenti_," said Blaise, and he said this repeatedly to keep a steady flow of water to wash Draco as he twirled around and presented several body parts and places. Harry's penis thundered particularly when Draco at one point threw his water-logged hair back with his eyes closed, and Harry captured that moment like a snapshot, but then he felt a hot rush of anger when he spotted a similar bulge in Blaise's pants, and it was quite enough to lend him enough bravery to venture into Blaise's face, which was deeply studying Draco as he washed, the face which he had avoided since it came into the dungeon.

When Draco finished, he thanked Blaise more with his eyes than his soft smile before slipping back into the cage, gleaming with cleanliness.

"Go on!" he said to Harry, in a catching voice, and when Harry seemed reluctant to do so, he panted, "You can't smell yourself of course but trust me, you do – the Owlery's positively a florist shop compared to you."

This by itself lent Harry sufficient embarrassment to walk out of the cage and approach the boy who had fucked him besides Draco, and his embarrassment replacing his anger, he again couldn't look at Blaise.

"_Aguamenti_," said Blaise dispassionately, at which point a hose of water streamed into Harry, who started rubbing himself and washing.

The second-most relieved person to receive a shower was Hermione of course, naturally being a girl. Blaise didn't bat an eyelid when she removed her underwear. And so Blaise washed all of them in turn, and after this, he looked distinctly weary as he began slumping out of the dungeon.

"Enjoyed the show, did you?" Harry shot at Blaise's back, which whereupon gave away lethargically to a tired frown.

"What was that, Potter?"

"I said you enjoyed the show, did you?"

Blaise lazily raised an eyebrow. "You mean your show?" he asked, and despite that he doubtlessly felt drained, he evidently decided it worth it and took the effort to enjoy a small mocking laugh.

Harry's cheeks turned pink. "No! Not mine! Draco – I saw you!"

"And so what?" asked Blaise. "You don't think Draco's a sight to enjoy, do you?"

"What? I—no, that—wait—I meant—Of course he's a sight—no—not in that way—if you mean he's very—what are you saying?"

"You were a great fuck, by the way," Blaise tossed behind him, apparently in his exhaustion expediently deciding Harry was on a jealous trip, and he was quite right; Harry blushed, and he didn't have any more acidic words to say to Blaise afterwards, who turned back around and continued his trudge towards the iron doors.

This comment managed to put a smile on Seamus' face.

"What are you going on about?" asked Draco.

"Blaise!" exploded Harry. "He was eating you up with his eyes!"

"Babes, you do realize there're other people who lust after me besides you and Blaise, right? Or at least my handsome face; I think I've lost some shape – it's been a while since I did Quidditch practice."

"It doesn't mean I have to like it!" fumed Harry, and then shot at Draco as though he weren't complimenting him, "And you're beautiful everywhere!"

"Which makes me feel so special," deadpanned Draco, clearly referring to the tasteless tone of the compliment, but then went on with more pomp in his voice to sigh joyously, "Ha! I swear I'll sleep better like this! I'm not itchy with dirt anymore!"

"Yeah, that must have been hell for you, wasn't it, Malfoy?" said Ron. "Must've been the longest you've gone without washing."

"And in case you've convinced yourself otherwise, there is no shame in being clean," replied Draco smartly, "unlike of course not being a virgin."

Ron coloured.

"What happened now?" asked Harry in exasperation, clearly suspecting something must have gone on between Draco and Ron as it usually tended to.

"Your friend here is obsessed with you," supplied Draco. "I'm confident he would have buggered you in Blaise's place."

"I would never do that to Harry!" shouted Ron at once, fists arrayed.

"You'd never fuck Harry so that he wouldn't have to feel the pain of that potion anymore?" asked Draco, raising an eyebrow.

"I—that's not what I meant – that wasn't what you said first!" gibbered Ron, turning an explosive purple in the face.

"Not again," whispered Hermione irritably.

"Ron wanted to fuck me?" asked Harry, astonished.

"Oh yeah, no doubt about that," replied Draco. "I think he still has something for you."

"I – don't – have – a – thing – for – Harry!" hissed Ron, biting each word as he seethed. "We're best mates! He's a tossin' boy, for Merlin's sake! I'm straight, if you could get that through that thick, snow-white head of yours! And even if I was gay, he's nothing to look at—I mean, sorry, mate," he apologized swiftly, "but – hem hem – you're—I mean-"

"You don't think Harry's hot?" asked Hermione, sounding shocked, but then she paled, squeaked, and tried to hide her face with her arms, but the damage was already done: Ron looked horrified.

"You think Harry's 'hot'?" he whispered cautiously.

"I've always thought Harry's hot," remarked Seamus, frowning as though he found Ron questioning this as strange.

But Ron seemed not to have heard this, still staring at Hermione with horror in his eyes, while Hermione was taking her sweet time in revealing her face once again to answer his question.

"Thanks, Seamus," said Harry, glaring at Ron. "At least someone here cares about my feelings."

Strangely, he felt insulted by the fact that Ron didn't find him remotely attractive. What was with that?

Draco fittingly had a look of surprise on his face as he stared at Harry.

"I never thought of you caring about what you looked like before," he said. "What happened to that adorable 'I-don't-care-what-anyone-thinks' attitude?"

Harry blushed quietly but didn't even look in his direction, let alone answer.

After that... session... with Blaise a few days ago, it seemed to have put an irrevocable rubber stamp on his homosexuality more than had making his relationship with Draco official on Tuesday, 23rd September, a date which he'd never forget. Again he thought it was because his love for Draco was above homosexuality, it was something higher than that. So even though he had been under an aphrodisiac as he and Blaise had sex, the potion had began wearing off, and when it completely did so a long way before Blaise burned out – he had an unsurprisingly amazing stamina, hardly doubtful – there was a period where Harry was for the first time fully conscious of what was happening, a period where he felt and calculated the moment of each thrust Blaise drove into him against the wall. It was when he had stopped making the desperate noises but looked down chastely at his own flaccid penis.

Subsequently, he had peered up tentatively, taking in Blaise's sweat-gleaming chest, his toned abs, the smoothness of his slides, the smell of sex that hung between them, the actuality of what they were doing – having sex, and for the first his penis started throbbing to life as he felt lust for any other force than Draco. It was a devastating and new phenomenon.

He was turned on not by Blaise, but by the sexual situation itself.

And shortly after, he had grown conscious of how Blaise found him as a sex mate, wondered for the first time of his own physical stature. He had looked down at his small, thin thighs, paler than Blaise's, studied his own slight abs, his barely visible biceps, the non-existent shape of his legs, even his feet (he had blushed in deep embarrassment as he had noticed a thick black nail on his big left toe and tried to tuck it away as he scrunched that foot, cursing himself for being such a boy in not cutting his nails often).

He started feeling conscious of the way he looked against the wall, with his legs around Blaise's middle, wondering what shape he made, if he should arch his back more to make himself look more sexier, if he should pose in a certain way, but he had done little of this, for he had been smothered by the embarrassment that had arisen from this new self-consciousness, and so he had merely pouted quietly as he was engulfed by Blaise's build steadily moving in and out of him. Now he felt that new awareness of his body towards even Ron, even Seamus, and even Hermione of all people. And most particularly he started feeling bad about his looks after Ron's words that he was 'nothing to look at'. Did he want even Ron, his best friend, finding him attractive?

Yes.

He had never had esteem issues, but here they were, and he wanted to be told he looked good. It mattered to him most particularly now if it came from them people around him.

It was a poignant turning point, and he so wanted to put on that emerald robe that matched his green eyes so much right then...

But now he knew Seamus and Hermione thought it was hot, and that did much for his spirits, which should have been strange and uncomforting, but it wasn't.

"So you'd never fuck me, Ron, is that it, even in life-threatening situations?" Harry asked aloofly, ignoring Draco, but then immediately beat himself inwards for asking such a question. What kind of questions was it? How could he ask such a question to his best male friend?

Ron whipped his head round to him and gaped, relieving Hermione of his attention.

"You'd want me to fuck you?" he whispered.

Harry flushed deeply, and unbidden, a few disturbing images of Ron ramming into him against the wall streamed through his mind; his face dove into a deep crimson.

"No, I didn't mean it like that—I mean, I wouldn't—if it's like life-threatening or something—no, but of course if it went to those extremes—I—I don't know—but you're my best mate! It can't be right, can it? No – no – no, I wouldn't want to – and you wouldn't want to, right?"

After a moment, Ron nodded so vigorously Harry was reminded of Tibby, but then this amusing thought vanished in the light of a more disturbing thought that entered his mind:

Why was he thinking of himself as a bottom...?

But with relief, he thought that it was because he had recently had sex with Blaise in that position, which he hadn't chosen, and because Ron was way bigger than him, both in height and stock, as was Blaise, and so it would have been weird to imagine someone smaller dominating someone bigger... Or perhaps it didn't matter in gay sex... Harry found comfort in the fact that he didn't know much about these kinds of things because he was only a novice in them; he found stout comfort in his limited knowledge of anything homosexual – it allowed him to feel that much redeemable, that much closer to heterosexuality.

There was a moment of silence which sizzled with sexual tension and tension of a different kind.

Ron, apparently reminded, turned back to Hermione and gave her a demanding glare.

"You were about to tell me if you found Harry 'hot'."

"Oh, Ron, forget about it!" grumbled Hermione, and then went on opportunistically, "It's something positively tiny compared to what you and Harry were discussing!"

Harry and Ron blushed quite by themselves.

"And I suppose my question's forgotten as well," drawled Draco.

"That's not fair, Draco!" hissed Harry under his breath, still stunningly red in the face while he made every attempt to avoid Ron's eye.

"I could cut the tension between you two with a knife," offered Seamus, at which point a red Harry and Ron looked close to eruption.

They all seemed to have forgotten they were all still naked from the shower Blaise had given them.

"Ron said he doesn't find me attractive in the least, so I don't know what you're talking about," said Harry tartly, crossing his arms and turning his face away from Ron and Seamus.

"I was just—don't take it so personally, mate," grumbled Ron quietly, scuffing his big toe in the hay guiltily.

And then of all things to do, Ron actually furtively – as furtive as he could be – raked Harry up and down with his eyes, taking in Harry's feet – many of whose toes had unsightly nails of significant length and dirt under them, which could be blamed largely on their current living arrangements; his short legs and nonexistent calves – which gave them a slight, girly shape, hence Ron's lust fluttered most alarmingly, no doubt; his knobbly knees, which did him no favours; his small, skinny thighs – the fact that they were not muscular therefore echoed those of females, with less attractive curve of course perhaps made them something to note for him; his penis – Ron quickly moved on, uninterested; his bony hips, nothing attractive in the least in that; his slight abs and torso, nothing worthy of ogling; his neck; and finally his face, cute in a 'I-want-to-prove-myself' kind of way.

Ron then seemed to grow confident as he looked up, looking self-assured; he may have judged Harry overall undesirable. He checked his penis and found it was still soft, no amount of stiffness in it at all; he may have felt affirmed in his heterosexuality.

Ron's eyes surprisingly went to Draco next, and luckily there was an uninviting and familiar expression on his face – a raised eyebrow – Ron quickly looked away, but then for some mysterious reason his eyes ventured back and took in Draco from the bottom up.

They took in the relatively neatly kept toes of the pale, veined, petite feet, giving them an all-around fragile, vulnerable look – Ron's eyes visibly widened in fear, but it appeared he couldn't stop himself even then, for his eyes carried on upwards to the legs, growing away from each other in a sexy arch past the pristine knees to the deflating penis – Ron looked relieved. He then went upwards to the abs there, the visible ribs, the pectorals, the long, slender neck, the well-known face which some might find very handsome but he may not. Ron again smiled in seeming satisfaction and relief. He peered down at his penis again – it had risen only negligibly in stiffness; Draco did have undeniably shapely legs, despite their skinniness.

"Ron!" whispered Hermione incredulously as she slapped him. She appeared to have caught Ron studying Harry and Draco. "I shouldn't think you'll be coming out too soon, yeah?"

Ron flooded with colour.

"Of course not!" he grumbled.

"Well after that detailed observation you can't blame me if you see me ogling over one of them when they're so deliciously naked again, can you?"

"Yes, I can!" objected Ron at once, forgetting to whisper. "You shouldn't be looking at any other bloke than me!"

"That's impossible with two of the hottest boys in Hogwarts around, Ron," argued Hermione good-naturedly.

Ron looked beyond insulted. "Is this what you say to your boyfriend? You don't think I could be the hottest boy in Hogwarts?"

"Of course you are!" said Hermione suddenly and loyally. "There's no one hotter than you, Ronny Riot!"

This term of affection managed to go a long way in disarming Ron.

"Hermione," he warned shyly, "that name's only for when we're-"

"So, Harry, you didn't answer my question – when did you start caring about what anyone thought about you, or at least body-wise?" asked Draco.

Harry held the hay between his big toe – with his unsightly long black nail – and the adjacent one and played with it until he thought Draco would forget about the question.

"Fine," said Draco shortly, apparently relenting.

"What do you think of me?" asked Harry suddenly. "Do you think I'm...?"

Draco frowned at Harry for a long while, taking in his sincere and worried face before he scanned Harry from his feet up (Harry buried his left big toe under the hay).

Draco smirked. "You're not too bad."

"What does that mean?" demanded Harry, with some annoyance.

Draco's eyes widened. "I mean," he said, looking at a loss for words for what Harry was demanding, "you're not particularly striking, sorry, but you do have your areas..."

"Areas of what?"

Draco exhaled sharply. "I like your... arse – it's nice and firm." Draco made a mysterious, irritated noise here. "... I like your hands – they look... powerful, like you could protect me always..." Draco swallowed uncomfortably while Harry brought his hands up and scrutinized and turned them over. "...I like your knees – I've never seen a more hideous pair." Draco smirked affectionately.

"Then why do you like them if they're so hideous?" asked Harry, thinking of how utterly ridiculous it was humans had to have knees; they surely weren't expressly necessary for locomotion, were they?

"Be_cause_ they're so hideous!" answered Draco. "Therefore they're unique, see, positive spin!"

Harry pouted and glared at Draco. "Right."

"I like your... belly-button, but I think mine's cuter."

And it was, Harry realized, as he stared at it. He had never before seen a navel as something with the potential to be cute or measurable by beauty. He hadn't noticed Draco – or any other person for that matter – had a navel up until Draco mentioned it.

"Most of all I like your face. You're very handsome, Harry Potter, don't let anybody tell you otherwise, or they will have to answer to your executive boyfriend."

"What makes me handsome, then?" asked Harry, wishing to get more specifics, which was also an attempt at hiding his blush.

Draco looked put-out, but with a bracing sigh he went on, "Your cheeks – they make you look adorable-"

"I'm not adorable."

"Your lips, look so kissable..." Draco ran a finger over them, at which Harry averted his gaze bashfully to the ground.

"And that scar, rather smashing, I think."

"I would have thought is smashes up my image; at least you hated it – there couldn't be an insult that didn't have my scar in it."

"That was then."

"Right. So that's all?"

"Well, yeah, Harry! You're not – what's that man you were babbling on about? – Narcissus!"

"Sure, I'm not," said Harry, smiling, and he couldn't help placing a tiny peck on Draco's lips. "I'm just Harry Potter!"

Draco returned the peck with a longer one. "So you'd never want to see me with another person, would you?"

"Never!" hissed Harry grinningly, with his arms around Draco. "All mine!"

"Do you two want to maybe find a room?"

"Piss off, Weasley, or else close your eyes if can't handle it!" And in defiance, he kissed Harry deeply, tipping his head backwards.

"Our dinner is getting cold!" said Ron.

"Who's stopping you from eating?" asked Draco between kisses.

Ron stared at them kissing, teetering on their feet, their erect penises poking each other's abdomens. His face screwed up as he went over to the iron bars to collect the bowls through the gaps. When he tried to hand a bowl to Seamus and Hermione, they were both too enthralled by what was happening between Harry and Draco.

The iron doors swung open.

"Really now," drawled Blaise at Harry and Draco, strutting towards the cage.

"We haven't started with them!" protested Ron, as he rushed to gobble up his gruel.

"Well, what were you doing all this time?" Blaise asked.

Ron dramatically pointed over to Harry and Draco making out.

"Blaise, won't you join us?" panted Draco, at which point Harry froze.

"No, thanks," said Blaise with a dismissive wave of his hand, "some aren't too pleased about me."

"Oh don't mind him – he's just getting himself sorted out properly. Tell me him you think he's gorgeous like me – but of course not really like me – he would appreciate the input."

"I don't care what he thinks of me!" said Harry, firing up.

"I don't find you attractive in the slightest. You're skin and bones, quite frankly, and I don't really do boys – appreciate that I told you the truth, Potter, nothing more and nothing less."

"Yet you find Draco 'a sight to enjoy'?" countered Harry seamlessly. "He's barely less skinny than I am."

"Well, yes," agreed Blaise unflinchingly, "Draco here has something about him I can't really... explain... He's just... gorgeous... but you – there's really nothing I can say makes my heart go like that."

"That doesn't make sense, can you hear yourself?" argued Harry, tapping his temple in something of a loony gesture.

"What do you want me to say, Potter? You actually care about what I think of you?"

"No I don't, actually!"

"Then why are we arguing?"

"Because Draco said something totally untrue!"

"Then blame your boyfriend, then. Are you finished with those?" Blaise pointed at the bowls, whereupon those who hadn't started on their dinner promptly did so under Blaise's rolling eyes.

"You just have to work on what you think is your best feature and focus on it and develop it while you tinker with some of the other things," advised Draco, wolfing down his gruel for the sake of energy than pleasure.

"But I don't think I _have_ a 'best' feature – that is it!" complained Harry honestly.

"Your face," said Blaise, as though he were part of the conversation. "Work with your face."

Draco raised his eyebrow up at Blaise, who shrugged elegantly.

Harry blushed wordlessly, now quite unable to look into Blaise's eyes, never mind glare into them as he had minutes prior.

"I would have thought your eyes!" said Draco.

"Me too, your eyes!" agreed Seamus readily.

"Especially after you got your contact lenses!" said Hermione enthusiastically. "I mean, it's like they have this brand new spark to them! Those glasses – or 'windscreens' – were weighing you down badly, and when you didn't have your contacts you had still that glazed, unseeing look to your eyes like a dead spider – sorry, Ron – but now, when you can see clearly it's like you do that 'blazing thing with your eyes' like Parvati said but just all the time!" Hermione trailed off, seemingly close to having an orgasm as she stared into Harry's mesmerizing eyes.

"But how on earth can I work with my eyes?" asked Harry, poking his gruel furiously as his face shone red.

"Just get used to giving us certain looks, you know," said Seamus, "striking looks, that is."

Ron snorted. "Like what, posing with his eyes? I can just see him in the doorway fuming that Draco had forgotten to put the toilet seat down and giving him a 'blazing' look!"

"Ha, ha, ha," drawled Draco, "but you essentially got it right." Ron scowled. "But don't go overboard with it – be simple, but talk through your eyes."

"So why did you say my face?" Harry shot at Blaise, and then after a moment said, "Oh if one more person says I'm adorable..."

"You're adorable."

Harry glared at Blaise, who merely smirked smugly down at him.

"In a bad way, if that makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't, for your information."

"I wasn't aiming to make you feel any better in the first place – that's Draco's job – I'm not your boyfriend."

"As if I'd ever want you to be my boyfriend," muttered Harry.

Blaise raised an eyebrow and then snorted.

"Adorable, see?"

Harry swore at him under his breath.

"Wow, so you've completely moved onto the other side," said Blaise with innocent wonder, "you're like full-circle gay now? Sorry, I don't get these things."

"What makes you say that?" asked Harry.

"Just... you apparently caring what I thought of you-"

"I don't."

"Right. Some words you use... A lot of it is subconscious, mind you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Harry curtly. "I love Draco, and that is all."

Blaise had a cunning look on him.

"For the record, you I really enjoyed our fuck – you were one of a kind."

Harry didn't look up.

"I was poisoned."

"Really? After a while I could have sworn you were acting like you are right now – all adorably shy – are you poisoned now?"

Harry's neck turned redder.

Blaise quirked an eyebrow in satisfaction.

"Are you finishing up? I must get going."

"What day is it, Blaise?" asked Draco. "How far is it from full moon?"

"Two days."

Several of them snorted up their gruel and coughed.

"Two days?" stammered Seamus.

"Two days, Finnigan," said Blaise gravely.

Draco left his meal and sat back on his bum. He seemed on the verge of spitting out the gruel in his mouth.

"So what are they going to do, let some werewolves loose on us, again?" he asked, looking around the enclosed dungeon.

"Don't know, as I've told you," replied Blaise. "I need to get going; Fauss expects me out anytime soon; can't be making him suspicious any more than he is."

They finished their meals in quiet and handed their bowls over to Blaise, who placed them on his tray and swept out of the dungeon. After, they put on their robes and each kept to him- or herself.

It had been a blur of decadence for so long that had blinded them temporarily from this imminent point, and all those issues left before it came back with a force – the fact they were would left to the mercy of some werewolves once more, and that Draco after all was a Horcrux.

The latter presented a convenience – they did not have to hunt for the individual Horcruxes anymore. However, this convenience came with a terrible price: killing Draco, of which, Harry thought, he wasn't capable and of which rather Draco himself was more so.

The next afternoon, as per Seamus' hypothesis, the group of four Slytherins returned.

"Hey, pretty boy!" said Bode, striding into the dungeon confidently, leering at Seamus, whose eyes instantly bore a horrified fear and who immediately backed up into Hermione.

"Oh, how sweet, running away from us, he is!" said Malinga, amused.

"Come on, pretty boy, we've come back for more," said Bode, as he grabbed his crotch and squeezed it.

"Don't you boys have anything better to do?" Hermione shot at them.

"Ooooh!" the Slytherins lilted jeeringly.

"No, actually, if you want to know," answered Bode. "School's a drag, so we just wanted to relieved ourselves on his sweet boy cunt."

"But don't worry, Semen—I mean, Seamus-" There were outbursts of snorts and chuckles, but Vic continued, "-we'll let you rest for a bit – see how considerate we are? No, today, we thought we'd give someone else a chance for a taste of how wonderful Harry felt. You looked liked you had a lot of fun, didn't you? Did you have fun yesterday?"

Quite contrasting to the light tone with which Vic spoke, there was no doubt he was less than happy about it.

"Much," answered Harry shortly.

Vic's slightly sharp stare hardened to a downright glare for a moment, but then he said, "Right. So you would understand of course why I'd like for the rest of your friends to enjoy themselves as much as you did?"

Harry didn't answer, and to his utter horror, Vic's face twisted into a malevolent grin as his hand drifted into his robes to pull out something, but then his hand emerged and it came out empty-handed, and Vic splashed his hand at him in a bluff, whereupon the Slytherins roared with laughter at the panic so eloquently written in Harry's face.

"As if we'd have another twenty-three Galleons to waste on them!" said Bode.

"His face went white like that, did you see?" wheezed Vic.

"You faggots!" said Harry furiously, his heart still thundering fast, and feeling quite disgusted and truly up to here with them.

But this specific derogatory term had a powerful effect on the Slytherins.

So powerful that they felt brave enough to dare take Draco for their sordid sex fest, and Harry tried with all his might to fight them. Harry's fists and kicks flew at them, but one of the tall Slytherins after Harry got his jaw quickly growled, "_Incarcerus!_" and Harry was bound by thick ropes to drop to the floor, where a harrowing panic took hold of him.

"Gag his mouth or something, Seth!" shouted the other tall Slytherin to the other.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! You're not faggots! Please leave him alone! Leave him alone!"

Draco screamed unmanly as Bode and Malinga tried to drag him out of the cage, but Ron and Seamus were giving a tough fight. Bode let go of Draco's legs to land a breathtaking punch in Ron's stomach, while Malinga dropped Draco's arms to get Seamus square in the jaw, and he fell and writhed wordlessly to the floor. Bode made sure Ron hit the ground by giving him another blow to the cheek, at which point Ron returned it with a mighty, graceless swipe of his fist, which nearly did have the intended effect of knocking Bode out of it, but Bode simply stumbled but then came with a furious wayward punch which Ron ducked to give him a good kick into his groin, but before he could do this, Malinga swung his leg into his face, and he fell to the ground, holding his face, writhing similarly.

"_Incarcerus!_" Bode yelled at Ron, who was promptly bounded by ropes.

"_Incarcerus!_" said Malinga at Seamus, who was roped as well.

Meanwhile, Draco had streaked back for the cage, and Harkins was pushed his knee viciously against Harry's face, deterring him from somehow blowing out a green jet of fire.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry...!" cried Harry, as he watched Bode trip Draco and Malinga grabbing him. "DRACO!"

"You're not sorry yet," hissed Seth Harkins, driving his knee deeper into Harry's jaw. "Ethan, don't be gentle with her!"

After these words, Ethan Ravenport gave Hermione a wide-swung clap, at which point she too found the ground after she had bitten, and scratched, and kicked him.

The iron doors swept open.

"What's going on in here?" boomed Fauss.

Bode and Malinga held tightly onto Draco, who continued flailing about with a crazy flight.

"Nothing to your worry your head about – go back to stargazing on your little chair," said Bode.

"You watch your mouth, you. I can have you out of here like that! Just a little white lie to sweet ol' Bellatrix is all it takes."

"You wouldn't dare!" growled Malinga.

Fauss bared his teeth at him.

"It's nothing, just we're having a little fun with them, is all," said Bode.

"It doesn't look like fun to me," said Fauss. "I say you were going to do something to Draco there, no?"

"Something like what?"

"THEY'RE TRYING TO KILL ME!" shrieked Draco, struggling energetically in their holds.

"They don't have the guts for that," said Fauss darkly, looking around Bode, Malinga, Harkins, and Ravenport.

"You're right, we don't, so sod off, you troll!" said Bode.

"I wanna see the show," said Fauss, and he leaned against the wall.

"There's no bloody show to see, Fauss, get the fuck out!" shouted Malinga.

"Oh?" said Fauss. "What are you doing with Malfoy then?"

"Just teaching him a lesson for that tongue of his, you know how he is," Bode told him.

"Fine, I'd like to see," said Fauss, readjusting his huge, folded arms.

After growling loudly in annoyance, Bode and Malinga dropped Draco to the floor. Bode whipped his wand out and cried, "_Crucio!_" and Draco started screaming; Fauss yawned and two minutes later he left the dungeon and settled himself back into his camping chair.

Malinga clucked his tongue loudly after the iron doors ground to a close. "Fuckin' nosy idiot!" he growled, as he and Bode dragged Draco forward, at which point Draco resumed kicking and screaming at the top of his lungs.

"HARRY!"

But Harry could not scream back – his mouth was shut tightly by Harkin's knee.

"I want him to watch this!" said Ravenport, grinning down at Harry as he kept a foot on Hermione.

Returning his grin, Harkins swooped down on Harry and locked his arms around his head, clamping his jaws down together. He then carefully rose with him until he was on top of Harry to suppress all his limbs, while his arms kept Harry's head upright to allow him to watch Bode ripping off Draco's robes and Malinga tearing off his pants. Tears leaked from Harry's eyes as he bared his teeth, unable to open his mouth.

Bode slipped Draco's Barmees off his struggling legs, which he was sitting on.

"Alex, Vic, I'm begging you with my life, don't this!" cried Draco, but to no effect, as Malinga stripped his shirt off and tossed it aside, thereafter pulling down his zip, but soon enough Malinga had moved on to join Bode at Draco's anus, for Draco had tried biting off his penis more than once more when Malinga tried to make him suck it. And so two penises were sliding in and out of Draco now, Malinga below Draco holding his arms and Bode above him holding his thighs down onto his stomach. Harry bore every painful moan and groan from Draco.

When Bode and Malinga were apparently close to climaxing they pulled out of Draco, who was too traumatized to move, and starting masturbating whilst they towered over him. Draco didn't resist as Bode held his wrists together above his head and as Malinga apparently couldn't keep running his hand up and down his chest, stomach, perineum, and through the crack of his bum cheeks. Bode didn't have time to frown at this, as with a muffled groan he spilled his seed onto Draco's face, and soon enough Malinga joined him and drops of his semen landed onto Draco's stomach, which Malinga bravely touched and spread around as he revisited those areas he had covered with his hand.

"Shoulda had a taste of that," panted Bode, squeezing the last drop of semen out of his penis to shake onto Draco. "Best fuck ever."

"I'll take your word for it," sneered Harkins, as he let go of Harry and stood up, leaving Harry crying softly into the hay.

"That'll teach you not to try us again, yeah," said Ethan, as he removed his foot from Hermione and went over to the cage gate. Bode picked up Draco single-handedly and carried him past Ron and Seamus and over into the cage, and laid him on top of Harry properly. Thereafter, he and Malinga pushed Ron and Seamus into the cage, unbounded them and Harry, and then locked the cage. The Slytherins laughed as they went out the dungeon.

"Draco, are you okay?" asked Hermione, but Draco had buried his face into Harry's neck, around which his arms had tightened.

"His clothes, they left them outside," sniffed Seamus wetly, pointing at Draco's clothes lying on the hay nearly in the centre of the large, circular room.

"Let's get you cleaned up," suggested Hermione, holding onto her stomach where Ethan's foot had so recently been.

Draco didn't respond to her.

Harry then motioned he wanted to get up, at which point Draco rose from him. Harry came to his haunches and stared at the streaks of white cream hanging off Draco's face; he took his robe and cleaned him up. Then Hermione wiped something off his hair – semen from when Draco had held onto him on his back; Harry flung his soiled robes to a corner of the cage.

"They'll pay for this, you'll see," he said quietly.

"What happened?" asked Blaise, wincing slightly as he entered the dungeon.

Draco didn't answer, and Blaise did not enquire further. He glanced aside to see Harry dispiritedly broken more so than on Blaise's first visit here.

This time it wasn't Draco who revolved to present the various places of his body to the torrent of water coming from Blaise's wand, but Blaise himself circled a stationary Draco and aimed the flowing water at some parts of Draco, who was gazing through the dungeon wall, his eyes glassy.

That night they all slept together, broken in unity, unified in brokenness. Draco lay on top of Harry, who slept directly besides Seamus, on whose other side snored Ron and Hermione directly next to him. At some point during the night, Seamus rolled over on top of Ron, whose arms then came up and encircled him loosely. When they woke next morning, Draco and Hermione, both of who usually woke up first, made goo-goo eyes at the sight of Seamus and Ron embracing each other somnolently and did nothing to change it.

"I think it would do his homophobia a world of good," said Draco, changing the tilt of his head as he looked down at them amorously.

"Sadly, I agree," replied Hermione. "I hope he thinks his morning 'wood', as he calls it, is because of Seamus!"

"How evil, you!" said Draco, impressed by Hermione.

"Never mind that. Are you going to stay like that all day?"

Draco gave his naked body a brief glance before his eyes found his clothes yards away lying in the hay. He tightened Harry's robes around him. "What can I do?"

"True," sighed Hermione, though she looked nothing close to unhappy about this, and whenever Draco's eyes ventured somewhere safe and his robes would drift apart, she would take a swift glance down his body, particularly at his penis; she was a girl.

"So," said Draco, whereupon Hermione hastily averted her gaze and looked at him in the eye, "what do you think's going to happen today?"

She subsequently peered up at the circular ceiling.

"One thing for sure that will be opened."

Draco peered up the dungeon as well, squinting at the ceiling. A shiver ran up his body.

"Seems like you're the least worthy. Maybe they'll take you out first."

"Thanks," said Hermione flatly, and she gulped.

"Voldemort'll probably have me in his lap, safe from the werewolves – he wouldn't want to let them misplace a single hair of his pretty catamite, would he, or the 'container' of his Horcruxes."

Hermione gazed at him wordlessly.

"What?" said Draco, after a long while.

But Hermione was still gazing at him quietly. She seemed to be making up her mind.

"Granger, it's rude to stare."

"Harry's not capable of it," Hermione said quietly, "but I can't find another way."

"Another way for what?"

"You have Voldemort's Horcruxes in you, Draco," said Hermione, "and we need to destroy them."

Draco crossed his arms.

"I know Harry'll never ever be able to do it – he loves you too much... But... for the sake of... everyone... thousands of lives... it has to be done..."

Draco gazed into Hermione's eyes.

"How would you do it?" he asked, after a very long time.

Hermione appeared to release a breath she had been holding during that long spell of silence, and her eyes grew shiny.

"I don't know – we could—we could maybe tackle or somehow trick one of the Slytherins into coming into the cage alone or something, then steal his wand-"

"You think you're capable of casting the Killing Curse, do you?" asked Draco, with a piercing, narrow-eyed look.

Hermione recoiled slowly, taken aback by the look's intensity.

"You think it's that simple? It's not – you couldn't even make a shower of green sparks. Trust me, you of all people won't."

Wide-eyed, Hermione looked away from him and her eyes landed on the person beneath Seamus.

"He wouldn't too," said Draco shortly. "It takes more than hatred to kill someone."

"Ron doesn't hate you," Hermione said doubtfully. "But what if—what if you care about someone too much, but you wanted to save many more lives," stuttered Hermione, "so you would want to sacrifice that person you loved for them?"

"Listen to yourself. How can you kill someone you care about too much?"

"I don't know! But we need to find a solution...! I can't believe I'm talking like this...!"

"Welcome to war, Hermione," said Draco tersely.

"Discussing a person's life like this like it's nothing!" gibbered Hermione, shocked by herself.

"We need to do it," stated Draco decisively. "Harry won't want me to, but I just know with all my being that Voldemort has to go – forever..." He shook his head, stomping on the hay to try to turn off the waterworks. "I just know he has to die, there's no other way, he's not human – he doesn't belong here..."

"Draco..."

"No." Draco wiped his tears hastily. "I have to do it, even if... even if it means I have to die... I could maybe make Fauss or the other Slytherins angry enough, but I doubt they would do it. Maybe Bellatrix, but she would rather kill herself than betray any of her master's orders. Maybe Blaise – I could make him do it! He could do it! He's not heartless, but he can be! That's a true Slytherin – he'll do what he needs to! He'll just have to make sure he escapes afterwards or he won't see the light of day again."

"So you'll ask him to do it?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah, when he comes for breakfast." His small frame shaking slightly, Draco turned to Harry on the floor, open-mouthed, Seamus' leg over his.

Hermione gaped, but she promptly closed her mouth, her eyes going over Draco, perhaps capturing him finally, for it might be the only chance she would get.

"I hope he'll still be asleep," murmured Draco, as he stared at Harry.

"Or you could ask Blaise to Stun him," suggested Hermione.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I have to do it."

"He'll never forgive me for this," said Hermione quietly, staring down at Harry.

"Yeah, well, in our situation forgiveness is a luxury, no?"

They waited quietly for the hours to pass until half past eight o'clock, listening to Ron's snores and Harry's and Seamus' soft breathing. Finally, when the iron doors slid apart, they revealed Blaise duly approaching them with a tray with six bowls.

"Morning," he greeted, as he stooped to place the tray on the hay.

"Blaise," said Draco, nodding, as Hermione did. "I need another favour."

Blaise sighed softly. "What, you want soap too to go with your showers?"

"No, but that would be nice."

"I don't think I can slip in a bar of soap past Fauss, not matter how dumb he looks – he searches at random, see."

"I want you to kill me."

"Ah, right," said Blaise, standing back up. "And how would you like it?"

"I prefer a curse – I'm not good friends with pain, see."

"Hm," said Blaise, pursing his lips, "I don't think I can do that."

"And why not?"

"Well, it would be against orders, see."

Draco looked at Blaise.

"Blaise, I'm serious… Voldemort-" Blaise flinched. "-sorry, Voldemort said—said he put his Horcruxes into me."

"His what?"

"His Horcruxes – pieces of his soul, so he can't die as long as I live. He did it because he knew Harry would protect me no matter what and therefore protecting his own immortality."

Blaise was frowning deeply. "What's all this now? I don't—his Horxi—what?"

"Horcruxes. Voldemort has torn his soul into seven, and he had apparently hid them in some objects. He said he sent Nott to Hogwarts and Bellatrix to her vault and to order some other house-elf with a ghastly name to get back those objects that stored his soul."

"And just what are these objects?" asked Blaise, an eyebrow aloft.

"I don't know, but that doesn't matter now because those pieces of his soul are in me now! That's why my insides burn whenever he's around, and apparently I was caught hissing at some point. I just need you to cast the Killing Curse on me, that's all."

"Even if I manage to do it-"

"You have to!"

"-I would be killed myself, or even worse – crucified," said Blaise, gulping.

"You don't have to – you just have to borrow Harry your wand afterwards so that when Voldemort gets back he can deal with him-"

"You're expecting Potter to rally all of us against the Dark Lord and all his Death Eaters and get us out of this place even as he doesn't know how we got here?"

Draco looked into Blaise's eyes, looking hopeless.

"I don't know, okay! But you'll sort the rest of that stuff after! And besides, Harry has a famous knack for slipping through Voldemort's hands, doesn't he? Something will happen somehow, I know it!"

"You're making no sense, Draco; I think the claustrophobia has gotten to you."

"I'm not claustrophobic! I need to die!"

Blaise shook his head, looking terrified. "I'm not killing you, Draco – that would be the last of me – of all of us! You haven't even thought it through properly! Are you even prepared to die?"

"Don't ask me stupid questions like that!" screeched Draco. "I just have to, okay – there is no other way. I want him to go down with me, if that's what it costs. Blaise, he killed my parents, he killed Severus, he killed my innocence – he took everything from me!"

Blaise shook his head, gaping uncouthly, drifting backwards.

"Blaise, we can get rid of him once and for all! Just be brave enough to do it, for me, Blaise, please…"

But Blaise merely continued shaking his head, stepping backwards away from the cage.

"Blaise!" whispered Draco furiously, his eyes brimming. "Come back here, don't do this to me!"

"I can't kill you, Draco," whispered Blaise, before he loped out of the dungeon.

"You fuckin' coward of a swine!" yelled Draco, upsetting Seamus, who started rousing on top of Ron. Draco held his forehead, breathing deeply.

"Well, I don't know what else we were expecting, honestly," said Hermione with a certain amount of relief, taking a bowl of gruel. "Breakfast, Seamus."

"Are we having a ceilidh?" Seamus murmured, rubbing his eyes.

"Nargh, Hermione, I told you not to leave it in…" slurred Ron.

Hermione waited for it.

"SEAMUS! GET OFF ME!"

"It's your arms that were around me!"

"That makes no sense, I thought it was Hermione!"

"It's still not my fault!"

"Who's more to blame here?"

"Hermione, is Ron usually overly touchy?" Seamus asked.

"Kind of, yeah."

"See, you put me on top of you."

"Makes no kind of sense!" said Ron angrily, but he was suddenly disarmed when he took his yawn and stretched, a serene calm blanketing him now. There may as well been a fan nearby to flutter his hair.

"What was Hermione not supposed to leave in?" asked Seamus, as he went over to one of the cool iron bars and put his shoulder against it.

Ron and Hermione flushed silently.

Soon enough, all the boys were awake and eating their porridge. Draco and Hermione gave no allusion to their previous conversation.

"Today's the day!" trilled Seamus, with false cheer but certain fear.

"What do you think he meant by it being 'quite the reunion', though?" asked Ron, as he pushed his bowl aside.

"We have another appointment with the werewolves again, don't we?" deadpanned Harry. "Wonder where he got them from. I thought we took them out. But I guess those couldn't be all of them, but we got their great leader Greyback too."

The doors gave way to Blaise, who collected their dishes without looking once in Draco's direction.

"What's he miffed about?" asked Harry, looking at Draco glaring at Blaise's retreating back as though it were guilty of the highest treachery.

"Nothing to worry your gorgeous self about," answered Draco through a tight grill of teeth.

Ron gagged.

They passed the time as always by playing with the little that they had salvaged. Harry watched as the remaining and still shrunken Snitch discs flipped, rolled, and spun all by themselves. He pulled out his new dazzling emerald-green robes and caressed them on the palm of his hand. For the first time since they were captured, when afternoon arrived slowly, the iron doors did not sweep open again to reveal Bode, Malinga, Harkins, and Ravenport entering, instead it remained decidedly locked, not that Harry and friends could tell if it were afternoon or not. However, there was one person to pay them a visit with both a most unpleasant meal and the most untoward news.

"I should tell you to prepare for the Dark Lord's arrival – he'll be here anytime soon," announced Blaise, as he strode into the dungeon, tray in hand.

A ripple rang along them.

"So the big bad snake himself is coming again?" asked Ron cautiously.

"You don't miss a trick, Weasley," said Blaise, and he bent over to place the tray in front of the gate, straightening back up and giving them an odd but cool sweep of his gaze, which found its end on Draco, who was glaring up at him as though accusing him of murder, or of not committing it.

"Oh well, I guess we should wash and dress up for the occasion, then," said Harry, as he rolled his eyes to the gauzy, circular ceiling.

"I don't need your snide comments, Potter," said Blaise, as he struggled to tear his gaze from Draco. "And indeed you should prepare, for the worst. I so do not envy you right now."

"Yeah I suppose sucking Voldy's prick is far better than being almost mauled by werewolves for the second time."

For a moment Blaise had a weird expression on his face: he appeared as though he couldn't believe that Harry just said that, let alone react to it, but soon after he narrowed his eyes to slits and said in a deadly quiet voice, "I kind of missed that, Potter, what was it?"

"I said-" began Harry.

"I'm begging you," said Draco softly. "Do it."

"Suck Voldemort's prick?" Harry asked Draco incredulously. "I was only kidding, Draco…"

Far from looking insulted anymore, Blaise again locked his disbelieving gaze on Draco.

"It will be the death of me," stuttered Blaise, again with unseemly uncouthness as he dithered in front of them. "You can't ask such a thing. My head'll be on the floor! You're not even serious yourself!"

"I am serious!" shouted Draco, as he for the second time became a white blur to leap to his feet. "I need you to do it!" he said in a more desperate voice. "It's the only way!"

"Of all the people you could've asked, of all the times you could have asked, of all the _things_ you could have asked!" Blaise purled around and made a beeline for the iron doors.

"Blaise!" yelled Draco, his voice cracking.

"Okay…" said Harry vaguely, looking from the closing doors to Draco's livid face. "And what was that about…?"

"Shut up!" snapped Draco, at which point Harry's eyebrows rose, and he looked across Draco behind his back to find Hermione's eyes, but Hermione gave a rather jerky and clueless shrug as she stared straight ahead of her, her neck muscles taut.

"That fuckin' snake of a bastard!" hissed Draco, and he kicked bare-foot at the iron doors, after which he cried and hopped on one foot, caressing the other. Harry further nursed it by kissing and rubbing it for some minutes to follow while the rest ate their pathetic breakfast and his grew cold.

Eating with his hands had been an enormous disgrace for one person in the beginning, but now one could have observed that Draco was an expert at, his bowl licked completely clean. He pulled back his foot after realizing Harry wasn't soothing it anymore, as Harry was staring vacantly at his clothes strewn in the hay beyond the iron bars in the centre of the room, where Bode and Malinga had raped Draco, one more people to add to the list of whose who had done wrong upon him.

And tonight, there would be more with which to append the list.

"What's the ruddy hell with you now?" Ron asked Draco through a mouthful of grey grits, his hand pawing at the inside of the bowl for more.

Clearing his bowl, Seamus remarked, "I'd hazard you're hung up on him if I didn't know any better… And in fact I do know better and so forget I ever mentioned anything and get to know my breakfast a little better…" Seamus subsided as he turned his back on an incensed Draco, though he had no breakfast with which to acquaint himself, for his bowl was sparkling empty.

"So what exactly is happening tonight?" asked Ron with a pale face and gulping. His bowl was sparkling clean as well.

"Another installment of _Ronny the Werewolf Slayer_," said Seamus, suddenly miserable. "I thought it'd be the last time we see them that night, I'd thought…"

"Well, clearly that isn't going to stay that way," said Hermione. It would have been in that moment that Harry imagined Hermione would come to her feet and started pacing, saying, 'We need some kind of plan. There must be something we can do.' But this didn't happen – in actuality, there was only despair in Hermione's face.

This surely couldn't be the end of them, could it? Voldemort wouldn't endanger Draco's life by leaving him to his werewolves' mercy knowing he had incased his Horcruxes within him, would he? He needed them for him to stay immortal in a sense. But what if he just needed Draco to be only within an inch of his life? What if he had decided he would let the werewolves ravage him as well until he was just hanging on by a thread? After all, Harry supposed, Draco needed to stay alive if his Horcruxes were to stay alive. And what about him? Voldemort wouldn't let his werewolves free on him, Harry, after he had expressed his uncertainty on causing him harm, would he? But what if he had found out what he had wanted to from those supposed Seers he had been meeting?

"I don't know what he's thinking, but werewolves don't make for great pets," said Ron.

Hermione sidled towards him and rested her head on Ron's shoulder, and Draco replaced his foot on Harry's lap as he took his hand and squeezed strongly on it. Seamus glanced despondently at the heap of hay next to the wall before he held onto himself.

Sighing sadly himself, Harry took his own bowl and tucked in, but then at some point he was suddenly coughing heavily; everyone looked up at him in alarm.

"You all right, Harry?" asked Ron, plainly seeing that Harry was not.

Harry coughed until his face went red and then he threw out his mouth a soggy piece of parchment, holding onto his neck. Draco reached for it – evidently the only one willing to brave Harry's spit – and unfolded the slimy corner of parchment. He frowned down on it as the rest of them closed in.

_Fauss has your wands._

"And what was the use of telling us that?" asked Ron, with a raised eyebrow.

Before anyone could answer, however, the iron doors groaned open, and Blaise swept through.

"Especially if he could have told us face to face?" continued Ron.

With a stoic face and with white, thinly pressed lips, Blaise waited for each of them to return their bowls, after which he rose to his feet.

"What's this?" Draco asked Blaise, flapping the piece of soggy parchment at Blaise, who wordlessly turned around and headed for the doors. "Oi! You better answer me, you!" But the iron doors met each other again and put him out of sight. Draco kicked the iron bars again and Harry kissed them better. "He should have at least given me a shower!" bleated Draco, pouting as Harry massaged his toes. He took the piece of parchment and read it again.

"You could've been nicer," said Harry.

"'You could've been nicer'," mocked Draco in a dumb voice, rolling his eyes.

Harry flung his foot away.

"I'm sorry!" moaned Draco, batting his white eyelashes at Harry, who shook his head and resumed massaging his toes.

"Think this is all a joke, do you?" Harry said.

"I'd rather enjoy a laugh than revel in my misery like you," sneered Draco. "Do that middle one, hurts the most… ooh… I'd rather prefer to laugh my last days off than sulk, thanks…"

"What do you mean your 'last days'?" asked Harry darkly, and he stopped rubbing Draco's toes.

Draco crossed his arms, looking anywhere but at Harry.

"Draco," said Harry, looking at him seriously.

"There's no other way for it," said Draco.

"Don't speak like that. There is!" said Harry. "There always is! There's always something we can do!"

"Like what, Harry, like what?" asked Draco.

Harry went quiet as he stared at the pale foot in his lap, scanning the blue veins that thrummed with life-giving blood beneath, stared at the individual toes and the nooks and crannies in between…

"That extract you gave Hermione," he said. "It said when you kill someone you tear your soul into two. What if you cast enough Killing Curses to shred Voldemort's souls in you?"

"You're babbling, Harry," deadpanned Draco.

"No I'm serious! It's like tearing and tearing his soul repeatedly until he has got nothing left or too small a soul to live any longer!"

"But, Harry, don't you think that as long as he has even just a piece of soul left, he still couldn't die?" asked Hermione delicately.

"Precisely, Hermione," agreed Draco sweetly.

There were a few moments of silence.

"It seems to me I'm the only one who cares about you living," observed Harry suspiciously. For some odd reason he glanced over at Hermione, with whom he had been friends with for so long he couldn't fail to notice she had blanched somewhat. "And it also seems like you've got accomplices in your little plans to kill you."

"He made me promise, Harry!" squeaked Hermione guiltily.

"Bitch!" roared Draco in betrayal.

"Oi, hang on there, mate! Tʼe shitting Pixies was that about now? You take that back!" said Ron in angry confusion.

"You know what? Fine, you can plot to kill yourself, see if I care," said Harry, crossing his arms and ankles and staring flatly at the iron doors. It wasn't encouraging to find out that he was the only one hoping for Draco's survival.

"Harry, come on," said Draco.

"Don't touch me," said Harry, and he refused to touch the foot in his lap but left it there for Draco to remove with his own free will – it was this after all that allowed him to plot his suicide. He could go ahead with it – it was his own life – Harry didn't give what he did then. Harry was tired of forever fighting against the tide, against every force beleaguering them, against trying to keep Draco whole and safe where Draco himself was contemplating his own destruction. He was finally tired of fighting a losing battle…

"Harry babes…"

"I said, do not touch me, did you hear me? If you want to take your life, fine by me, see if I care. Go ahead, Draco, it'll bring me one step closer to destroying Voldemort, takes a hell of a lot off my plate, which is quite full at the moment without your help. Do it, I couldn't care less, doesn't matter to me. You've never cared about my own feelings – it was always me to look after you, me to save you, me to do _everything_ for you. I'm sick and tired, sick and tired. You've always acted without thinking about me – growing tantrums, changing moods at the switch of the hour and whenever you felt like it. I always had to go to you, I always had to search you, convince you I was worthy, convince you I could do anything for you, and you've never, never understood how much I love you. I was always doing the work, and here when I ask you to do something for me just once – stay alive for me – you turn you back on me, even for your own life, even when you know how much you mean to me you still never think about me, so kill yourself, why don't you, it's a noble way to die. Your Salazar would be so proud."

For once, Draco appeared to have so much shame he couldn't look Harry in the eye, nor could Hermione.

"I—I—I'm sorry, Harry," said Hermione in broken whispers, her eyes tearful and misty with disbelief at her own self. "But—I—I thought it was the only way… I knew you'd never…"

But Harry wasn't listening – he had resumed his deadpan stare at the doors.

"I—I know how much… how much you love me."

"Just shut up, Draco, it's too late," said Harry colourlessly. He looked down and played with Blaise's note, turning it over to see another message on its reverse: _I've never stopped looking out for you, Draco. You're the bestest friend I could have hoped for. Always loved you. _He tossed it at Draco, who collected it idly but didn't look at it.

"I'm sorry."

"Right."

"I just—I just can't see another way."

"You wouldn't."

"I love you, Harry, you know I do."

"You can't love me if you want to kill yourself. Do you even understand what that word means, Draco, Slytherin Sex Prince? No you don't. You have no idea of it whatsoever. But how can anyone blame you with a family like you used to have. I bet you even your mother didn't smile at you around Lucius. You just disgust me right now."

Harry couldn't say he hadn't seen the fist into his cheek coming.

"Aren't you glad we don't have relationship problems like they do, Hermione?" whispered Ron, throwing his thumb in Harry and Draco's direction.

The slap in his face couldn't have been unexpected.

The three hours to come after this was one of increasing fear and tension. Despite his disgust at Draco that he was so unbelievably selfish, and his sore jaw courtesy Draco's sharp knuckles, Harry still feared for him and the rest of them, and being so high-strung suspended in the build-up to the moment, it was almost a relief to hear the iron doors slide apart to reveal Blaise, Massice, Warrington, Carrow, Bode, Malinga, Harkins, Ravenport, and Fauss.

Draco and Seamus bowed their heads.

"Tis time you lads got ready for the show!" said Fauss, grinning in malevolence.


	11. The Massacre

**Chapter 11**

**The Massacre**

Smirks firmly in place, the nine boys walked across the hay towards them. Five of them were carrying wooden buckets. Massice kicked Draco's robes lying at the centre of the floor all the way up to the cage, which Fauss tapped open, whereupon Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, and Seamus all rose to their feet warily.

"Out," ordered Fauss, adjusting his hold on the handle of the bucket.

Despite that Harry felt no love for the cage in which he was standing, at the moment would have preferred to stay in it. However, he obeyed the order and stepped out of the cage to stand in front of Fauss, the others following his lead. Although he tried peering into the buckets to see what was in them and sweep his gaze across all of the Slytherin faces before resting it on Fauss' cold, smalt eyes, his mind was at the huge iron doors behind them, dreading them sliding apart and revealing a tall figure with a crimson glow under his hood.

"Why the long faces? You should be relieved you're finally out," said Fauss.

"Hardly," said Harry. "It's been sort of like home, wasn't it?" he asked around him, much to the bewilderment of his friends and selfish lover, but shortly they made woefully unbelievable noises of agreement.

Fauss' lip curled mockingly. "Well, say goodbye to your little 'home' – you have another appointment with a few werewolves!" And though Fauss grinned malevolently, Carrow, Massice, and Warrington failed much like Harry's friends to carry their own little evil cackles convincingly. Bode and Malinga, meanwhile, made smooching noises at Draco and winked at him.

"So can't wait for that," drawled Harry, crossing his arms. His eyes flicked back into the buckets.

Fauss raised an eyebrow. "Can't wait, can you?" he said. "Well you heard him, boys. Why don't you take off your clothes right quick, then?"

Harry stared at Fauss.

"Those," said Fauss, pointing at Harry's robes, "off."

Despite his pride, Harry's eyes flew to Bode, Malinga, Harkins, and Evens, searching their robes with his eyes, wondering if Essence of Aphrodite would indeed make another appearance. He had never experienced such a vile and frightening potion in his life.

"Why?" asked Harry flatly.

"Don't bloody ask question, Potter," said Fauss, "just do as I say. Do we have to do this all the time?"

"Don't worry, we won't give you funny potions anymore," said Bode, his smirk trembling in amusement.

"What potions did you give him?" asked Fauss, while Harry and friends undressed.

"Aphrodite's Essence," replied Malinga. "You should have seen him! He was busy yanking our pants!"

"I never did that!" said Harry hotly.

"Shut up and take your rags off, faggot!" Bode shot at him.

"Oh," said Fauss, drawing the word out in realization as his eyes found Blaise. "I see, and so he was that desperate for a fuck?"

Malinga snorted loudly. "'Desperate' doesn't even cover it from what we saw, but funnily enough when we came back he didn't look the least bit narked…"

"Oh that was probably Zabini's doing," said Fauss lightly, giving something of a smile in Blaise's direction. "Yeah, I thought he must have took care of him…"

Several heads turned to Blaise.

"Zabini?" asked Bode suspiciously, one of his eyes narrowing severely as the eyebrow above the other one rose.

"There, we're starkers, now what?" asked Draco, who hadn't any robes to divest.

Fauss looked back at them. "Heads up!" And without warning, he grabbed the bottom of his bucket and threw it at Harry, after which a thick, brown liquid took full flight and was for a moment suspended in mid-air as a streak of brass before it splashed onto Harry, who ducked backwards and closed his eyes reflexively. Bode, Malinga, Harkins, and Even shortly followed, and this gave Draco, Seamus, Ron, and Hermione enough time to prepare – a luxury which Harry was not afforded – and twist around so that the liquid poured on their sides and backs.

Hermione screamed shrilly, swearing at them as she had never before. It only amused the Slytherins, who luckily had forgotten Blaise, which was perhaps for what Draco had been aiming.

"What the hell is this stuff?" demanded Harry.

Fauss sneered in disgust, looking up and down at them.

"Let's just say the werewolves won't be able to keep their paws off you."

Hermione swore some more, which earned her a blob of spit in her face courtesy Fauss.

"Aren't you just the perfect Mudblood now, gutter-blood. Do yourself a favour and shut that pie-hole this instant. Right, Gryffindorks, if you will please proceed to the centre of the room."

He snapped his fingers, at which point Carrow shut his eyes lividly but then stalked forward and collected their robes and tossed them to the other side of the dungeon. There was a clanking noise shortly after, but one questioned it.

"Move, move," Fauss ordered at them, gesturing towards the centre of the dungeon; Harry and friends, gleaming with that foul-smelling brown liquid, slowly made their way there and then stood.

"Now you just sit tight there," said Fauss. "Don't fret about it! Chill!"

"Come on, I wanna see that snake finish off that bloke!" said Malinga excitedly, as he jumped on Bode, pushing him towards the doors. They ran towards it, Bode replying,

"I reckon that was the shortest stay in office for any Minister! But that thing's appetite is ghastly, whoa!"

Hermione made a strangled noise of disbelief.

"Forget the snake," said Fauss, "I want that new American tosser! Did you see his face when he saw the Dark Lord for the first time? I swear he nearly went sick! And did you hear him talk? Shittiest accent ever! I'm gonna make him say, 'Wuchoutzi'!"

The iron doors swept closed and put them out of sight.

"Do you think they were talking about Kingsley?" asked Seamus, clutching again onto his scalded shoulder.

"Which other Minister of Magic was there after Fudge?" deadpanned Harry.

"But snakes don't eat like that," said Draco, frowning. "That kind of meal – Dolohov, a grown man – that was supposed to last her for months!"

"Well, clearly Nagini was never an ordinary snake," said Harry bitingly, studying himself, dripping wet.

"Ha…!" breathed Hermione, as she looked at herself as well, covered in brown liquid.

"I would've gone for that potion of yours rather – at least you're all human," said Ron wryly.

Harry looked at Draco covered in the stuff; so Draco wouldn't be spared. He thought Voldemort would at least spare him of all of them. Harry looked away from Draco before Draco could catch his eye.

A few minutes later, this very person whose eye he was trying to avoid hissed as he closed his eyes and clutched his stomach, and not a second later there was the sound of grinding steel – the iron doors reluctantly slid apart and revealed a wall of dark figures, which drifted over the threshold and entered the dungeon; Harry and friends backed up absent-mindedly. When the door closed behind the figures, the torchlight burst with fresh vigor, burning brighter, and the second next, rings of torches burst into flames, higher and higher up the circular wall until almost to the top of the ceiling. The ground then shook, and what happened next seemed impossible even in the magical world: the floor ground loudly as it descended a metre, except for the part where the figures stood, where it remained, forming an elevation, carving crescent cement rows like unfolding bleachers.

The iron doors swept again to reveal Voldemort, tall, thin, and wearing that disarmingly mild expression.

Then there was a shrill scream – it sounded very familiar to Harry.

"Take your hands off me! Where are your parents, dear boy? Aren't they under the impression you're still in school? I went out of my way to bestow upon you the tools to divine your own future and this is what I get? Ill treatment at the hands of my former students?"

With shawls trailing on the hay, and her skewed glasses magnifying her bulging eyes, Harry stared at none other than Professor Sybill Trelawney. She shrieked when her eyes fell on Voldemort.

"It's the beast again! How many times I must tell you, I don't know--!" But Trelawney was pushed to the floor by Fauss as Voldemort claimed his seat, his expression still mild and the slightest bit curious. His Death Eaters followed suit and took their seats as well, letting their hoods fall off, and the iron doors shut together behind them with a chilling _GOOF!_

"What madness is this?" cried Trelawney, as she looked around and struggled to pick herself up to her feet. She tottered round and her eyes fell on Harry.

"Harry dear, is that you?"

It was a jarring reminder of Hogwarts, of a once beautiful place corrupted, and for several moments Harry couldn't speak as emotions waged war within him.

"Dear boy, what in Cassandra's blessed Eye are you doing in such a foul place? Er—Oh dear, oh dear, I see some… parts… of you are… shall we say, hanging out…"

Blushing brightly, Harry and the others covered themselves.

"Harry!" she whispered, as she stumbled and fell into the expansive pit wherein they stood. "I hope you're in astonishment as much as I am, but such a fortuitous meeting of ours cannot be just. But I see you now, whole – you have heeded the lure of the chasm of fate! Well done, dear boy! Dumbledore would've been so proud!"

Harry had little idea of what she was talking about, but this wasn't anything new when it came to Professor Trelawney. However, he was careful of undermining her words after her foreseeing Voldemort's rebirth, no matter how much they wanted to make him laugh. But at that moment nothing of what she said had a semblance of meaning to him, unless of this 'chasm of fate' she was speaking of the cliff in front of Draco's villa, which was something he could hardly miss and fall over by mistake.

"Er, okay, Professor," said Harry, trying to wrench her surprisingly strong grip from his shoulders. He was catching strong whiffs of sherry from her, a trademark of hers.

"You have failed to tell me anything concerning destroying Harry Potter – it's only fitting you share his fate," announced Voldemort, as the dungeon went silent. "I think it's time we reintroduce you to your friends, don't you, Potter?"

"Bring it," said Harry, his heart pumping fast, and he couldn't resist sliding up to Draco protectively. This was it.

"Forgive me, but I need some clarity on a few administrative issues beforehand," said Voldemort, as he turned to a Death Eater next to him whom he conversed with quietly.

"…They're already heading towards the school as we speak, My Lord," said the Death Eater, who seemed to be staring over Voldemort's shoulder rather than directly into his scarlet slits, which were narrowed.

"And of the other matter?" asked Voldemort sharply.

"They'll be running lose on Hogsmeade again tonight, My Lord, we'll have regained the numbers we had boasted before."

"And how long will this take?"

"By the next moon they will have all converted completely, My Lord – that is most definite."

Slowly, Voldemort extracted himself from the Death Eater's face, a lipless smile stretched across his illuminated face, and facing Trelawney, Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, and Seamus, he proclaimed, "Great tidings it is!" He flicked his wand and the cages behind them turned into black wisps and evaporated into nothingness, leaving the wall bare behind them. "Now, I believe there are some here to prove they have done their homework…"

After these words, several figures on the right couldn't help their shivers before they stood up.

"I do hope you're up to standard. You know the consequences otherwise."

"Yes, My Lord," they chanted together, and the four figures strode forward towards them, producing their wands.

"Let us begin with the basics," said Voldemort in an exhausted voice. "The Unforgivables. The Imperius Curse."

"_Imperio!_" said Blaise, and the next moment Seamus was sniffing and scratching himself like a dog.

"_Imperio!_" shouted Massice; Ron started skipping around the pit.

Trelawney was frowning at them.

"_Imperio!_" yelled Carrow, whereupon Hermione walloped the eyelashes off Harry, who stumbled backwards and so wasn't prepared when Warrington barked,

"_Imperio!_" And Harry started singing the Hogwarts school song in a most beautiful voice of which he surely wouldn't be capable under normal circumstances, or perhaps his singing voice had always been there but never explored. There was nothing latent about his viciously red cheek, however.

The four Slytherins boys glanced back at Voldemort undoubtedly to be given instruction to proceed to the next curse, but Voldemort had lost the little interest he had in them altogether and had rather focused his slit eyes on Draco. The Slytherins looked around each other, panicked, but then nodded at each other. They all cried,

"_Crucio!_"

And Draco was left to watch Harry, Ron, Seamus, and Hermione holding themselves rigidly on the floor after initially screaming briefly.

"And lastly the Killing Curse," hissed Voldemort slowly, turning his attention back on them after wrenching his gaze from Draco with seeming effort, boring his eyes into their heads, and it appeared the Slytherins could feel his heavy gaze; several of them trembled in their discomfort, and others swallowed bracingly. The wands shook in their arms as Harry, Ron, Seamus, and Hermione started shuffling about in fear, mumbling incredulously.

"_Avada Kedavra_," mumbled Massice feebly, pointing at Ron, who was jumping around trying to evade the aim of his wand. It was only fitting that nothing happened, though Trelawney still screamed at the top of her lungs.

The little colour in Massice's face was bleached away as his body froze, muscles rippling tautly in his neck, waiting for something to happen behind him. His fellow Slytherins looked horrified at his failure, for it only put even heavier attention on their own attempts, and it was just as well – Voldemort did not look impressed.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" stuttered Carrow at Hermione, who screamed again and held onto Ron, but nothing happened.

Trelawney screamed again.

The Slytherins were shaking visibly.

Warrington cleared his throat nervously, blinking rapidly.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" he cried at Seamus, who scrambled to get out of his aim as well.

And nothing happened.

Trelawney screamed still louder.

Warrington froze as well, his glassy eyes staring ahead of him.

There was a moment of shivering silence. Voldemort started to rise from his seat.

"_Avada Kedavra_," said Blaise, and there blasted a blinding light of green and there flew a whooshing noise that swooped upon Seamus and dropped him to the floor, from where he never rose again.

Harry closed his eyes, and Hermione gave a muffled scream, while Trelawney shrieked and jumped backwards into Harry, her shawls flying.

"And what do you suggest I do with the three of you?" asked Voldemort, nostrils flaring.

Warrington did not speak, nor did the other two.

"Evidently, you don't deserve to be amongst us, do you?" When they didn't answer, Voldemort continued, "And they cannot even answer simple questions!"

"No we don't, My Lord," chanted the Slytherins, shaking in their boots.

"Fauss, won't you show them how it's done?" said Voldemort.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

The torches exploded into green as another rushing noise streamed like a train and swiped Warrington off the tracks from life. Trelawney screamed as loudly as ever as a seated Death Eater on the left jerked forward but soon contained himself, but Voldemort didn't miss this.

"You object, Warrington?" he asked delicately.

"No, My Lord, not at all, he—he wasn't worthy," sighed Warrington senior quietly, and he subsided in his seat without complaint.

Voldemort turned away from him before he even finished speaking.

"Join your captives there if you do not wish for a similar end," he advised the remaining Slytherins.

White-faced, Carrow and Massice promptly leapt into the pit-like arena and shuffled next to Draco.

"It is clear to me you will never be up to the standard I command for those who wish to follow me," said Voldemort. "And I noticed how you spared your teacher – how honourable of you…" Voldemort was clearly far from meaning this sentiment. "But for now I believe it's time we test out our experiments. Fetch them, Fauss."

"As you command, My Lord," said Fauss, whose face had again broken into that ugly mania as he slung confidently towards the iron doors, though his gait became rigid as he passed Voldemort.

"What's that young man fetching?" Trelawney asked Hermione, blinking down at her.

It was something in the corner of his vision, but Harry was fighting hard not to look, fighting extremely hard not to glance at Seamus lying on the floor with his glazed eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. His stomach felt all concretely heavy again. He had never felt a stronger desire to say his prayers, to hope for something to save them, but Hermione's soft moaning was extremely distracting and chilling.

"Draco," cooed Voldemort softly, "you're comfortable down there? You don't wish to find your place on my lap?"

Harry opened his eyes as Draco lowered his gaze to the floor.

"Draco…" cooed Voldemort again, sending ripples of detestation down Harry's body.

"Go," said Harry quietly.

Draco whipped his head up at him.

"Go," repeated Harry, without looking at him.

"What?"

"Yes, what?" asked Trelawney.

"I said go to him!" shouted Harry, glaring at Draco now.

Draco looked into his green eyes for a moment, not understanding what he was saying, it appeared, at which point Harry shoved him forward carelessly.

"Go!"

"Harry, I'm shocked at you!" gasped Trelawney.

Draco stumbled backwards silently, looking back wide-eyed at Harry, whose glare didn't waver.

Voldemort made a cute sound. "Ah, isn't that sweet, Rowle?"

"Sickening, to be honest, My Lord."

"That's also true, yes…"

In utter disbelief, Draco climbed up the elevation, straightened up, and made his way to Voldemort, who looked more than ready to receive him. He waved his wand, and a mere breeze left Draco sparkling clean with no traces of that brown liquid anywhere on him or indeed that he had been captured for two weeks. However, Draco suddenly detoured and sat himself next to Voldemort's feet; Voldemort looked simply amused. He extended his pale hand and weaved his long fingers through Draco's hair. Draco couldn't conceal his repulsed shivers and couldn't stop rubbing the back of his ear with his shoulder in discomfort.

Harry's jaw tightened as he watched them, his own face threatening to break apart, his tears wanting to sprout, but he fought it down. _This way you'll be safe, you inconsiderate arse._

The iron doors ground open again to reveal Fauss pulling something from behind him, what it was, Harry couldn't discern at the moment. Fauss brushed past the cloaked Death Eaters and then pushed forward two dark, mangled figures covered in bloodied clothes, one wide and the other exceptionally short.

At first, Harry didn't know what to make of them, but upon closer inspection he realized they were the last persons he would have ever thought of. Gaping in complete shock, Harry watched as Gregory Goyle and Colin Creevey stumble forward towards them, their eyes lifeless, their dry mouths hanging open, and if Harry's eyes weren't deceiving him, Colin's broken spine was still sticking out of his back, making him look like a hunchback. With a dark glamour about the both of them, they seemed strangely deflated, and their faces were rearranged such that some of Goyle's hair was in the middle of his face, and Colin's jaw seemed to have been wrenched to the side, hanging lopsidedly.

Harry exchanged looks of disbelief with Ron and Hermione. At Voldemort's feet, Draco was staring at the floor, tinkering with his M-necklace, looking nauseous.

Goyle and Colin looked at them with deadened interest, their arms hanging lifelessly on their sides, their backs hunched. They looked up at the thousand flames of light from the spiralling torches, but even the light from them seemed not to brighten their eyes but left them as opaque as ever.

"Oh!" said Trelawney, swaying on her feet. "Merlin's mercy! Is that who I think it is?"

Colin looked so small, so torn apart… Harry couldn't believe his eyes.

Voldemort waved his wand again and there was a great grinding noise that didn't come from the doors this time but from above, and automatically every eye climbed up the wall at the ceiling and watched as it slid apart slowly to reveal at last a gauzy but familiar sight – the full moon.

Immediately, Goyle and Colin dropped to the floor and started making horrible snarling noises.

_Shit. _Harry's heart thundered inside his throat. They were really going to be mauled by their schoolmates.

Colin's spine protruded even further out of his back. His small feet burst out of their shoes. Bones were breaking and protracting and rearranging in their bodies. Goyle only widened further as he transformed, growing more fur than Colin and massive paws to replace his already beefy hands.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Trelawney, Carrow, and Massice ran for their lives.

"All seems in order," said Voldemort, and he rose to his feet. "Let's leave at once, my pretty catamite, our bed calls…"

"Harry!" screamed Draco, as Harry pelted away from the transforming creatures in the full glare of that silvery orb. "Leave me alone, you fuckin' monster!"

"Oh, little Draco, you break my trampled heart. Have some fight in you, do you? Would you prefer rather to stick around with your friends? I can certainly leave you about."

"Harry…!" cried Draco, tears shining in his eyes, torn between Voldemort and Harry.

Goyle and Colin were now in full flight as werewolves, chasing them down. Goyle powered through Carrow and Massice, and their heads rolled in the hay. Even though Trelawney wasn't covered in the foul-smelling liquid, she was nevertheless leapt upon by Goyle next, while Colin, much slower, was still bounding for Harry. Fauss had hastily retreated towards the doors, through which the other figures were quickly shuffling.

Harry would have loved nothing more than to pin his fingers in his eyes to block out Trelawney's howls of pain as Werewolf Goyle raped her, but he had enough to deal with with Colin on his back.

"Colin, please, listen to me, you can hear me in there!"

The next thing he knew his feet were swept off the floor, he was flipping on his side in the air, and Colin was suddenly looming above him with a wild and menacing smile.

Watching all of this desperately, Draco was standing in front of Voldemort, who was waiting for him to make his decision.

Werewolf Colin dragged Harry closer with his paws, and into sight whipped out something long, pink, and throbbing between his legs.

Harry screamed unmanly himself.

"Stop this, make this stop!" Draco shouted at Voldemort, whipping his head between him and the scene unfolding in front of them.

"But we must get going now, Draco," said Voldemort sweetly. "Wouldn't you prefer a comfortable bed and a proper meal? Come."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" shrieked Draco wildly, ripping himself from Voldemort's grip, while Voldemort still looked nothing but pleasantly amused.

"You wish to stay?"

"I'm not leaving Harry!"

"So be it, but I should tell you--" He waved his wand in a broad gesture in the air. "--if you're hoping they will kill you along with your boyfriend there, you are as of now sadly mistaken. You may be mauled beyond description, but they will never take your further than an inch of your life. You understand this?"

"I'm not leaving him, Voldemort," said Draco, looking directly into Voldemort's eyes, fearless.

Something like rage flashed past Voldemort's features when Draco spoke his name.

"As you wish, my pretty catamite, as you wish, but I sadly regret this." Giving a cold laugh that was anything but regretful, Voldemort swept out of the dungeon, whereupon Draco galloped over to Harry and Werewolf Colin, jumping into the pit and throwing his fists and legs at Colin's back. Harry took Colin's moment of distraction to swing his foot into his groin, at which point Colin howled. Harry scrambled out of his shadow and over him saw Ron and Hermione trying to pummel Goyle off Trelawney, who was already lying motionlessly on the floor and with her face so bloodied and bashed it was as though it had gone through a meat grinder.

Colin being the smallest werewolf he had ever seen and more fox than werewolf, Harry spearheaded him, taking him down to the floor, where he and Draco trampled him. Harry was trying to convince himself that it wasn't Colin but a werewolf, and this justified his actions. The werewolf thrashed around, sweeping Draco off his feet. Harry brought his foot into his face, and a screaming pain shot in his foot as it collided with the werewolf's teeth. Draco regained his footing and kicked the werewolf in the groin repetitively.

Goyle swung a paw at Ron, who ducked just in time, and this gave Hermione an opportunity to attack Goyle's groin as well. Goyle backhanded her viciously before turning to Ron.

Colin flung his arms at Draco, who jumped backwards; Colin got up and charged. He brought his claws down on him, but before they marked him he was careening through the air as he was swallowed by a green dragon of fire from Harry's mouth. The iron doors groaned open.

"_Stupefy!_"

Ron and Hermione ducked for cover, while Goyle merely growled threateningly as the spell bounced off him, since spells usually had little effect on magical creatures.

Blaise froze, for a moment seeming unable to think up of anything else to do to the werewolf, but when the werewolf went for him, he raised his wand again and shouted, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Evidently, the Unforgivables were as ever an exception, for Goyle subsequently crashed to the floor, dead.

Blaise trotted further into the room, levitating a Stunned Fauss, and then four brooms followed him inside.

"_Avada_--"

"No!" shouted Harry. "It's Co—it's—just wait!" he stammered, staring at Colin mewling and trying to get up from the floor.

"Potter, that thing's gonna--"

"It's him! I know I can make him listen to me!"

"There's no time to try convincing a bloody werewolf that you were once chummy with it! _Avada Kedavra!_"

A flash of green a whooshing noise later, a charred Colin dropped to the floor. The full moon above started to drift away from the ceiling.

"Heartless arse," spat Harry, but with a fair amount of awe that there was someone in front of him who could cast a Killing Curse so casually and yet mean well at the same time. But hadn't he also been capable of it once? But that was with Voldemort – that man brought out sides of him he didn't know existed, and he sincerely doubted he could do it again.

"You need to get out of here," said Blaise, walking past Ron and Hermione towards Draco. He briefly glanced at Seamus on the floor, his handiwork.

Hermione was frozen for several moments but soon after she was thrashing on Blaise's back and beating his head down.

"How could you kill Seamus, you monster! Tossing out Killing Curses like they're getting out of style!"

Blaise took her by the hair and threw her aside. He proceeded over to Draco.

"You need to go, right now."

"Your guts will be spilled, Blaise," whispered Draco in awe.

"Doesn't matter," said Blaise shortly, looking down for a moment. He went to a hovering Fauss and searched his robes. His hand emerged with seven wands, two of them a matching crimson and gold colour, and one with chiseled teddy bears and flower patterns. Blaise handed them all to each of them, tossing Trelawney's to her unmoving body and giving Dean' and Seamus' to Harry. He levitated their brooms towards them. Ron was picking Hermione up from the floor and restraining her from going at Blaise again. Reuniting with his wand felt unbelievable to Harry; his hand was tingling incredulously.

"I can't believe you're doing this!" breathed Draco. "Come with us! You surely won't outlive this!"

"Can't," said Blaise, looking down again. Then he approached Draco, hesitated as though what he were about to do was unbefitting of him, but then kissed him on the cheek, but he lingered there despite Ron clearing his throat until Harry had to put his foot down literally. "Here," Blaise said, handing them their brooms.

Still feeling surreal, and now a little flared up, Harry took hold of his old Firebolt and his leg seemed to mount it on its own volition, so natural his legs found themselves around it. He glanced at Colin-turned-werewolf on the floor… so small even as a monster… He could've sworn at one time Colin's golden yellow eyes had flickered with recognition… He looked down at Trelawney, also dead on the floor, a large pool of blood swelling under her head.

"See what you would have done, Draco?" he said, without looking away from Colin and Professor Trelawney on the floor. "You wanted to bring your parents back like they were… It just wouldn't have been the same…"

"Er, Blaise," said Ron awkwardly, "why are you doing this again?"

"No time to chat, Weasley," said Blaise in a tight voice. "Get going, all of you!"

Ron helped Hermione on a Nimbus GK2.0 Concept broom.

"But why can't I ride with you?" squealed Hermione frightfully.

"Because that'll mean we'd be leaving a broom behind," said Ron simply.

"And I suppose that's too horrible a crime, is it?" said Hermione nervously, her voice quivering as she hovered on her broom. "Oh why didn't they blow all of them up and spare the human race?"

Harry remembered the Slytherins had destroyed two of the brooms Seamus and Hermione had been trying to ride, and that was why there were only four brooms – three Nimbus' and his Firebolt.

Suddenly, the iron doors slid apart; every head whipped towards it, Blaise looking the most frightened in his life, but nobody was standing on the threshold, and for several moments nothing happened until Harry glanced down at the ground there and saw Nagini flicking her tongue as she slithered inside.

"Why do I get the feeling Voldemort's seeing us right now?" asked Harry lightly.

"I'm guessing Nagini is not a normal snake?" said Ron.

And sure enough, there was a bellow at that moment that shook the whole dungeon.

"Let's go!" shouted Harry.

They all zoomed upwards.

"It'll be the last of you, Blaise!" cried Draco. "Please come with!"

"Draco, we have to go!" shouted Harry.

Blaise shook his head with a sad smile and headed towards the doors, but as they ascended, Draco steered his broom sideways, did a loop, and then flew straight for Blaise, tackling him and taking him on his broom before shooting it upwards and climbing higher.

"_Accio_ _clothes!_" Draco yelled, and something black swooped upwards towards them. Draco caught the bundles of clothes while Blaise arranged himself properly on the broom.

"Let's blast it apart all at once!" yelled Harry. "One, two, three!"

And they all bellowed together, "_CONFRINGO!_"

The gauzy covering exploded, revealing a clear dark-blue, boundless sky. Harry couldn't describe the feeling of being outside again. They zoomed into the air, but then by chance something shaved Harry's eye, and he looked back to see Nagini sailing through the night air towards them like a vast black rubber band slingshot through the indigo sky, her mouth open behind Blaise and Draco. Nagini could fly as well as her master.

"Behind you!" Harry shouted, whereupon Blaise looked back. It took another effortless Killing Curse to send the giant snake tumbling towards earth; Harry yelled inarticulately and punched a fist in the air, so much was his joy at finally seeing the snake slain. Grinning widely, he bent low on his broom to streamline himself as they flew through the air, but then something occurred to him.

"Okay, where're are we going and what direction is it?" he shouted through the roaring rush of wind in his ears.

"Back home!" replied Draco. "Search for my Portkey! It's a diamond hairpin!" he said at Blaise, while he controlled the broom. They were going at simply dazzling speeds. "Let's descend!"

"No, a little further!" Harry shouted back a little too quickly; he wanted to put as much distance between himself and Voldemort.

They flew high over Little Hangleton, and it wasn't only 'a little further' when they finally encountered a blank stretch of land and started losing altitude to finally touch ground. Harry was the last to land on his Firebolt, which had been rendered absolutely obsolete by the new Nimbus brooms. However, he was glad to dismount from his broom – it had been pressing uncomfortably into his bare crack, and what was more, he couldn't believe that they had escaped. But it had still come with a terrible price – Seamus was gone, and Professor Trelawney…

"Cannot believe we just flew from Voldemort's headquarters through the air and landed… here!" said Hermione.

"Right," said Draco briskly, shivering as he turned to Blaise, who was looking highly uncomfortable around them. "The Portkey." After Blaise handed them their clothes, which they wore, he handed Draco a sparkling hairpin with winding diamonds twisting towards a large pearl at the top. "Gather around, gather around." They did so, and the next thing there was a flash of blue, and again, like a hyperlink, Draco's dead parents flashed across Harry's eyes.

A second flash of blue.

They were leaving without Dean and Seamus.

A third flash of blue.

Regardless of their efforts, more and more were slowly dropping off, one by one…

A fourth flash of blue

But Draco was still alive…

A fifth flash of blue, and Harry felt the familiar tug behind his navel before the world around him spun and whirled, hurtling through a colourful kaleidoscope of blurring structures and whipping scenery, and the next moment just before he thought his lungs would burst, his feet hit solid earth once more, and he was staring at the vineyard of Draco's villa once more.

Blaise started coughing something horrible.

"Blimey, are you a sight for sore eyes...!" whooped Ron happily, as he beamed at the villa. "Never thought I'd be so happy to see it. It can't feel like we have any other place else to go, does it, Hermione?"

"No, Ron," gasped Hermione, holding her chest, 'it doesn't."

"So this is where you shacked up all this time when you were gone?" asked Blaise, with a fist in front of his mouth, plainly unused to Portkey travel.

"Yeah," replied Draco. "This is where we used to have those winters when I wasn't home, remember, and I would come back to you all moody and sulky and it took a few days for you to warm up to me again."

Blaise made an annoyed noise at Draco's amused smile.

"You got some back at me, I guess," Draco went on, "what with springing that absurd growth spurt on me!"

Blaise shrugged elegantly with a proud little smirk.

Irritated by both Blaise and Draco's connection as such and Draco entirely, Harry began marching stiffly towards the villa with his Firebolt in hand, uncaring of whoever followed him or not. Moments later, he heard footsteps following him, but he was concentrating on when he would snap his fingers to call upon Tibby and finally eat a real dinner… Oh and he had to take a shower! Harry had never before felt so excited about taking a shower! It would cleanse him and make him normal again… and he was just really yearning for one for the sake of it – somewhat a new feeling. Oh and the first thing he would do before even hopping into the shower was cut off that ghastly black nail of his.

_Why on earth do humans have to have nails of all things?_

Appalled, Harry shook his head and proceeded through the vineyard. He looked over his shoulder past Ron and Hermione to see Draco chatting with Blaise as they walked. He turned back and doubled his pace towards the grey-stoned house in front of him.

An hour later, Harry was emerging from the bathroom feeling refreshed and looking clean for the first time in two weeks. With a towel wrapped around his waist, the first thing he did was look for the little of the new clothes bought for him from Ferlucci in Winox Lane in the pile of robes on the bed put there by Draco. He extracted from one of the pockets of his robe a palm-sized green robe, which he un-shrunk with his wand. Seconds later, he swept into the sitting room and met an equally clean Ron and Hermione.

"Hermione thought it was a good idea to play catch-up to get to know each other a little better since there's a new member in our circle," said Draco, as he stood up and in a tone that made it quite plain he felt he could be doing something else less boring. "Now we know each other's favourite colours and birthdays, but that's as far as we got."

"What's your favourite colour then?" asked Harry, as he took a seat on the three-seater settee, and he quite forgot he was still supposed to be mad at Draco in light of this opportunity to find out more about him. Blaise looked on from the opposite end of the couch.

"Heraldic sage."

"I just knew it was something I couldn't pronounce," said Harry, rolling his eyes halfway to the ceiling. "And your birthday?"

"First January."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes, New Year's Day. Just goes to show how special I am, doesn't it?"

Harry felt quite tempted to snort. Of all the days he could have been born… He still felt as though Draco was pulling his leg.

Draco trotted out of the room, undoubtedly to go take a shower.

"You need to watch out for him, Potter," warned Blaise quietly, as soon as Draco disappeared.

"What?" said Harry a little waspishly.

"Draco – you need to keep an eye on him – he's acting funny."

"Yeah, you would know," retorted Harry.

Blaise raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

"I can't believe we're back here," said Hermione under her breath, as she looked around the room.

"I feel like we should've brought Dean's and Seamus' bodies with," said Ron, with a guilty grimace.

"We didn't have time – Voldemort knows we escaped him again," said Hermione.

Ron nodded ruefully.

"Dean didn't even get to ride on a Nimbus GK.20 Concept… This just undid all we achieved just like that," he said, twirling his wand despondently.

"You mean the werewolves?" asked Harry. "Yeah. Feels like it was all for nothing…"

"It wasn't completely for nothing," interjected Blaise. "You took out the baddest, meanest werewolf out there – Fenrir Greyback. Trust me, the werewolves won't have as much bite without him… Anyway, so is my taking Thomas and Finnigan's room official?"

Hermione nodded.

"Tibby," said Harry.

_POP!_

"At your service, Harry Potter!"

"Why can't she listen to us?" whined Ron grumpily.

"Elves have a thing for Harry Potter, I guess," replied Harry. "Tibby, could you get us some dinner, please – real dinner!"

Tibby's face twitched momentarily in a frown as though she felt Harry had insulted her cooking. Then she looked around them. Harry had a weird feeling she realized Seamus wasn't there.

"At once, Harry Potter… Where is Master Draco?"

"In the shower, don't worry," said Harry, assuring her.

Tibby nodded before she clicked her fingers and disappeared. She returned some minutes later with five trays steaming with delicious-looking and heavenly smelling dinner, and they all tucked in without waiting for Draco.

"He's taking awfully long," said Blaise, after sipping on his drink.

Harry was getting irked by Blaise's concern for Draco. He bit viciously into his lamb chop.

"He normally takes a lot longer," he said tartly around his full mouth.

Before Harry and Blaise could get going any further, Ron whipped out one of the few surviving cards of the game set Catch That Snitch! and shuffled them pathetically with greasy hands, but no one wanted to play, so he tossed them away.

Minutes later, Draco, dressed in a navy silk evening robe, rushed into the room with his eyes closed and kissed Harry deeply on the mouth before saying, "That shower did a dazing number on me – I'm gonna sweep a few clouds." He unclasped his M-necklace and curiously clasped it around Harry's neck, much to Harry's bemusement. Draco's bare feet slapped the floor discreetly as he disappeared out the door.

Harry sat there feeling a little dazed himself, fingering the golden necklace absent-mindedly. He accidently caught Ron's and Hermione's eyes and blushed but turned to Blaise with a gloating expression. However, Blaise suddenly launched out of his seat, sending his tray in the air, and streaked towards the door and out.

"What the…?" began Hermione, her hair swaying in the breeze of Blaise's wake.

"DRACO!" they heard Blaise shout.

Still confused, Harry jumped to his feet and sprinted out of the sitting room with his friends and followed Blaise's panicked voice. They rushed towards the flung door and watched for a moment as Blaise chased something like a bird flying through the pathway cutting through the vineyard.

"I have to do it! Tell him I love him!"

Harry's heart stopped.

_All through the hood, I keep hearin' niggas sayin' I'm supposed to die tonight._

"DRACO!" Harry roared as he leapt over the stairs, crashed to the floor, picked himself up, and hurtled towards the figure pelting for the cliff, its robes billowing behind it.

"Draco, don't fuckin' do this! POTTER!"

"DRACO!"

_Niggas come put a hit out and they talkin' like the shit okay, I'm down to ride tonight._

A paralyzing fear had frozen Harry's heart and turned his mind upside down. _Draco, don't do this to me! _He watched the platinum-blond hair rippling in the wind, the bendy legs wobbling and illuminated in the silver glare of the moon carrying him forward towards the chasm of fate.

Blaise finally managed to catch up with him on his longer legs. He tripped Draco and tried to mount him, but after his hair whipped backwards a wand flashed into sight, there was a bright blue-white flash, and Blaise was blasted backwards. Dropping his wand, Draco scrambled to his feet and continued his run towards the cliff.

"Draco…!" cried Harry into the air, but the robes flapped in the air, the legs had leapt over, the pale figure was suspended in mid-air – a second later he had gone over the cliff, dropped over it, and out of sight.

A force exploded through the mangled gates of Harry's chest and roared in the air as a giant jet of green fire rose into the air. Harry's chest contracted, he sucked in a rugged breath, opened his mouth, and released a second fiery dragon which soared towards the moon.

"Draco…!"

He held onto Ron's arm and cried his heart out at the edge of the cliff. He tried to go forward to see where Draco had fallen, but Ron pulled him back and dragged him away from the edge.

Hermione appeared not to believe what had exactly happened.

"That… boy!" she whispered.

Blaise was still peering over the cliff on all fours. "Draco…" he whispered.

But calling his name would not bring Draco back, for as clear as daylight, below the floating blue robe, his pale body could be seen almost a hundred metres at the bottom of the rocks, awkward, crumpled, and lifeless.

_Somebody gon' die tonight._

**Author's note:**

The lyrics are from the song _I'm Supposed to Die Tonight_, by 50 Cent from the album _The Massacre_.


	12. Cruel Intentions & Curious Infections

**Chapter 12**

**Cruel ****Intentions & Curious Infections**

Ron had to carry Harry back to the villa, and Harry didn't care for anything at that moment – didn't care if Blaise saw him dissolving, didn't care if they were coming or going, didn't care to live anymore...

Ron laid him in the master bedroom, but Harry didn't let go of him as he cried into his chest for many hours to follow. The M-necklace around his neck had long been flung away.

"Ron...!"

"Shhh..."

"Ahaaa... How could he do this to me, Ron...?"

"Selfish little arse he was."

"Draco...!"

Ron could only extract himself carefully and go check on Hermione in their room when oblivion finally obliged Harry some hours later, but he found Hermione mot in their bedroom but in the sitting room. Blaise wasn't doing any better and had capitulated to Hermione's bosom. Ron hung in the doorframe.

All they had been through, all they had sacrificed for him; how dare he?

Didn't he know that he loved him?

Didn't he know he couldn't imagine a life without him?

His whole life had been shaped around that name – Draco.

But was Draco's life ever shaped around him?

Did Draco really love him?

Did all they had been through, all they had sacrificed, meant anything to him?

He had dared to do it – he had done it – Draco had killed himself, and Voldemort was once again a mortal man...

_A cloud of smoke rose up into the air, ascending into the dark sky. It floated over the edge of the cliff and eyed a handsome villa a few yards from itself. Lead by two hovering slits for eyes, the mass of smoke drifted forward surely, through the vineyard, over the stairs, swirled under the door, traversed the foyer, past the sitting room, under the door, and into the master bedroom. There was a sleeping figure in its view, with a shock of raven hair peeking out from under the sheets. The floating mass of smoke slowly prowled towards the sleeper, over the bed, and accelerated forward over his head._

"No!" screamed Harry, as he jerked awake, and his wide green eyes saw a mass of smoke jerk backwards, hovering in the air between him and the door.

His heart beating wildly against his chest, Harry reached for his wand under his pillow, aimed it at the smoke, and was just about to fire a curse when some of the smoke descended downwards and started forming misty stumps. Another part of the smoke stretched aside, one left and right, and another upwards, until Harry could discern that the stumps were making limb-like structures, and a second later his thoughts were confirmed when the stumps started assuming the shapes of legs and arms and a head. The smoke then started solidifying, going from a greyish transparent mass to a dense white substance until it started changing colour and texture. Then there emerged a faded portrait of a boy, and three seconds later a naked Draco Malfoy was standing in front of him.

Bewildered as he had never been before, Harry slowly slipped out of the covers and cautiously approached this form that resembled the Draco he had known for four years. Harry went up to him, his mouth hanging open, and stared into the person's eyes – they were so glowing that Harry thought he was staring into two cauldrons of melting silverware.

"Draco?" Harry whispered.

What sprouted on the person's face was a smirk gone wrong – it looked awkward and wobbly – a mere shadow of Draco's own tall, superior smirks.

"Draco?" Harry whispered again to the person in front of him, who was in the image of Draco – he had the same long, thin feet, the same thin, bending legs, the same cute navel, the same palest complexion, the same thin, shell-pink lips, the same long, upturned nose, the same long, spidery hands – everything was in place, yet it was impossible it was Draco, for he knew his lover's crumpled body lay on the rocks down below.

"Harry," whispered the person.

Open-mouthed, Harry tilted his head sideways.

"It's—it's me," said the person. "I don't know, I don't know how, but I recognized that horizon, I flew up the cliff and I saw my home... I don't know what happened. I saw my own body there with my own eyes..."

Harry's head tilted further to the side.

"Draco?" was all he could say.

"Harry," said Draco again, with a little amusement.

What could this person do that was characteristic of Draco?

"Hush, my dragon, don't cry so much," sang Harry quietly, still disbelieving.

"Morrow I promise fun we'll have much," sang Draco.

Harry's jaw hung lower.

And the next thing he didn't know how he had started but he was throwing every limb in his possession at Draco without order. He wasn't punching, he wasn't kicking, but merely throwing his limbs at him, so furious he was.

"HOW FUCKIN' DARE YOU KILL YOURSELF AFTER EVERYTHING WE DID FOR YOU! AFTER EVERYTHING I DID FOR YOU, YOU FUCKIN' SELFISH SICK TWISTED ARSE! YOU HAVE NO CARE FOR ANYTHING OTHER THAN YOURSELF! FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKIN' BASTARD, WHERE DO YOU GET OFF PULLING SHIT LIKE THAT ON ME-?"

"Harry, you're hurting me!"

"DON'T TELL ME I'M FUCKIN' HURTING YOU, YOU SELFISH GIT! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVED YOU? HAVE YOU ANY IDEA? HOW COULD I START TO DO ANYTHING WITHOUT YOU? DIDN'T YOU UNDERSTAND ANY OF THAT?"

"Why're you speaking in past tense?"

"Harry, what is going on?" said Hermione loudly, as she crashed the door open with a spell, and when her eyes landed on a naked Draco who was supposed to be dead, she screamed and then fainted back onto Ron, who didn't catch her but toppled to the floor as well, leaving Blaise to rush into the frame and stare gaping at Harry and Draco.

"What magic is this?" whispered Blaise disbelievingly as he watched Draco being pummelled by Harry, but he regained enough sense to drag a wrathful Harry from him. Blaise sustained heavy blows as well and couldn't hold onto Harry, who returned to Draco and resumed throwing his limbs at him haphazardly.

Blaise grabbed Harry's wand from the floor and shouted, "_Ennervate!_" at Ron and Hermione, who shook their heads dazedly as they rose. "Help me with Potter here – he's gone lost his head!"

So the three of them attempted wrenching Harry from Draco, and luckily a few seconds later Harry had expended all of his energy and could not fight them anymore but was left to hyperventilate on the floor, glaring his eyes out at Draco, who was propped up against the huge armoire in front of the bed.

Harry had never felt so enraged by Draco.

"Who are you?" asked Hermione, frowning incredulously at the boy sitting against the armoire.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," panted Draco. "Hogwarts Slytherin student, Galleonaire son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. This is my property."

"Where'd you come from?" asked Ron.

"Malfoy Manor, southern Wiltshire, Trowbridge, England."

"But," said Ron, who seemed to feel as though Draco hadn't answered his question properly, "where—how—how did you—but you didn't survive it – we could see you—him down there-"

"Beats me too, Ron," said Draco quietly.

"This is madness," breathed Blaise. "Utter madness."

"Did you die or not?" asked Ron, thoroughly confused.

"I think I did – I saw my body," replied Draco quietly, playing with his fingers.

"So this is practically a new body, but it looks the same?" asked Ron.

Draco nodded. "Looks like it."

Some moments of silence passed save for Harry still breathing in and out deeply.

"Do you think Voldemort's Horcruxes saved you or something?" asked Hermione. "That they died in your place?"

"I don't know. I think maybe we all died – as I said, I saw myself," answered Draco, avoiding Harry's eyes because Harry was doing all he could to catch his and do who knew what next.

"So how did you get in, then?" asked Ron. "I thought this place was top-notch safe with wards and all."

Draco shrugged. "I floated under the door."

"Sorry?" said Hermione, turning her ear towards Draco so as to hear more sanely.

Draco looked agitated, undoubtedly not least because his story sounded admittedly rather insane.

"I said I floated under the door and into this room, okay? I was like mist all over, flying and stuff."

"You were mist," deadpanned Blaise.

"Yes, that's what I said," snapped Draco.

Blaise, Ron, and Hermione exchanged looks, and judging by the colour rising in Draco's cheeks, he hadn't failed to notice this.

"You looked like Voldemort," said Harry wildly.

"Thanks for the compliment," drawled Draco without looking at him.

"How did you survive?" demanded Harry.

"I don't know, for the umpteenth time!" said Draco in frustration.

"When did we start being boyfriend and boyfriend?" demanded Harry.

"Merlin, now I'm going to have to prove I'm myself," murmured Draco. "Twenty-third September. It was a Tuesday. We kissed in my makeshift room. You fainted after that."

Harry blushed stoutly.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I'll never forgive myself. But I just… He had taken so much from me, from us, baby… I wasn't thinking straight, I just wanted him to go away, I wanted to give you the chance of killing him once and for all-"

"And do it without you?" Harry interrupted angrily. "What would be the use? I mean fuck all those other people, I wanted you!" He didn't care if it was a selfish thing to say, it felt very true at the moment.

"I know I've been selfish, and I'm trying to change, to stop being the way I was before us, but you have to understand-"

"Understand you killing yourself, you mean?" asked Harry sharply, his voice rising uncontrollably.

"Harry, I know you're furious-"

Harry made a loud and rude noise and turned away from Draco.

"I just did it without thinking, without considering you," said Draco solemnly. "I just knew that I needed to defeat Voldemort in some way. I didn't want him to take almost everything of mine and not pay. I wanted to somehow avenge my parents. Don't you think I deserved that?"

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO DIE TO DO THAT!" boomed Harry so viciously spit flew out his mouth. He kicked at the leg of the bed and swore loudly in pain.

"But I'm alive now," said Draco.

"YOU DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE GOING TO BE ALIVE! YOU SHOULDN'T _BE_ ALIVE!" bellowed Harry, the sharp pain in his toes quite forgotten.

"I said I'm sorry! What more can I do?"

"I'll show you what more you can do," murmured Harry, and he rushed towards Draco and started throwing his limbs at him again in a random way, looking quite awkward and laughable.

"Potter, for Merlin's sake!" snapped Blaise, before he raised his wand, but Ron and Hermione were already trying to pull Harry from Draco, who made for a sad sight and looked rather pitifully miserable.

"Let me go! He's _my_ boyfriend to beat up if I want to!" yelled Harry, thrashing in Ron's and Hermione's grips.

"Harry, come on, mate, calm down."

"Harry, really, don't you think you're being downright ridiculous?" said Hermione.

"Oh I haven't started yet!" said Harry, eyeing Draco maliciously as he continued flailing.

Draco stood up and opened the door of the armoire.

"Look at this," said Harry, shaking his head, "taking out clothes as if he has a right to do it."

Draco put on an emerald robe and tied it at the waist. He padded over to the chair in front of the dressing-table, swivelled it around, and sat in it, watching Harry struggling with Ron and Hermione.

"It is his house," said Hermione tightly.

"Harry, come on, he said he was sorry!" said Ron in frustration, pink in the face from the exhaustion of holding onto Harry as Hermione was.

"That's not the point!"

"But don't you understand that this way Voldemort is finally mortal? We can kill him now," said Draco, trying to appease himself.

"He doesn't get it," said Harry simply, shaking his head. "He utterly doesn't get it!"

"Just leave him," said Draco tiredly.

"What?" said Ron and Hermione in unison.

"Leave him – let him do whatever he wants to me. Get it over and done with."

After raising his eyebrow, Ron shrugged and let go of Harry as though he didn't terribly mind seeing him beat up Draco.

"Ron!" said Hermione, but Harry easily shook off her hold and hurtled into Draco, pressing him by the neck onto the dressing table and pulling back a fist. Draco merely stared up into his face, quivering with fury. Bearing his teeth, his fist still raised, Harry glared into the smoky silver eyes he had known for so long, knew were so selfish, but how he missed them. His livid face broke into tears, and he crushed Draco in a fierce hug.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry nodded quietly, his tears streaming onto Draco's neck.

A few minutes later, Harry and Draco were holding each other on the king-sized bed.

Hermione was trying to figure out how Draco had come back to life, and she kept returning to the idea that the Horcruxes had died in place of Draco, and admittedly, it seemed to be the most reasonable explanation for why Draco was sitting and breathing in Harry's arms.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

Harry nodded, sniffing.

"You know I love you, yeah?"

Harry nodded, wiping his tears.

"Give me a hug."

Harry hugged him again.

"So you okay?"

Harry nodded.

"You're still mad at me?"

Harry shook his head.

"Okay, can I get another hug?"

Harry hugged again.

"I'm back and I'll never leave you again, yeah?"

Harry nodded.

"You forgive me?"

Harry nodded.

Ron looked rather amused, but it was true Harry was acting like a three-year-old who had been abandoned by a parent in the care of a distant and rather nasty relative for several hours.

"…I mean, really, it's not like you were harbouring a deep dark secret that you were some sort of spirit… were you, by any chance? Oh forget it, there really isn't any other reason I think of…"

"Isn't there a library here that can maybe help us?" asked Blaise.

Ron scowled at Blaise, and his worst nightmare seemed to be realized when Hermione gasped.

"Why didn't I think of that? Blaise, you're a genius!"

"'Blaise, you're a genius'," murmured Ron mockingly. He didn't see the slap to the back of his head coming.

"The library it is! Come on then!" Hermione trilled excitedly.

They all trooped out of the master bedroom in their pyjamas towards the circular massive library, some more reluctantly than others. They were just about to pass under the large signage _Libraria de Malfoy_ in the hall when Hermione looked over her shoulder and said at Draco, "What did you say you look-?" But she jumped out of her skin and screamed at the top of her lungs.

"What the ruddy hell's the matter?" asked Ron, but he froze when he caught Harry's face.

Wondering what Ron was looking at, Blaise turned to Harry as well, and he wore a disturbed and yet fascinated frown.

Draco was the only who appeared not to be surprised by the fact that there were two silver parallel lines running diagonally across Harry's face.

"What is that?" asked Hermione, her voice muffled by the hands on her mouth.

"What, what's the matter?" asked Harry, frowning around at them. He was having that feeling again, as though he were an extra-terrestrial as he had in second year when Ron and Hermione told him he was a Parselmouth.

Draco took Blaise's arm and studied the expensive-looking watch adorned on his wrist.

Hermione pointed a shaking finger at Harry.

"Your face, why do you have those marks?" she asked tremulously.

"What bloody marks?" said Harry, looking around the house for any mirror, and immediately his eyes landed on the door across the hall with two diagonal lines across them. "You mean like that?"

Each head swivelled towards this point.

"Exactly like that," breathed Hermione in bewilderment

Seconds later, Draco touched the door with a finger as he had before and they swept open. The first thing to catch Harry's eye was the rippling lights coming from the left side of the room. These lights attracted as well the eyes of Ron, Hermione, and Blaise.

"Feels weird being in here again," said Draco in the darkness. He muttered something under his breath that wasn't '_Lumos_' and the room lit up, though it was hard to discern the source of the light. The room, perhaps an unused guestroom, was small and simple, with a single bed in the middle, a wardrobe against the wall, a chest of drawers next to the door surmounted by a mirror, and to the side there was an identical though much smaller armoire from which the silver-blue rippling lights were coming and on the doors of which there were two silver parallel diagonal stripes.

Harry stood in front of the chest of drawers and looked at his face in the mirror. There were lines on it identical to those on the door outside and on the armoire inside. Ron looked over his shoulder into the mirror.

"Looks like Malfoy left you with a lasting impression, eh?" he remarked.

"What?" asked Harry, but before Ron could answer, he experienced a stroke of realization.

"Remember when Malfoy sliced your face with that snake cane of his? Don't you think the fangs on the head would leave these kinds of marks?"

"Ah!" gasped Hermione. "That... man!" Her eyes darted to Draco and hastily looked away. She adjusted her voice to a less outraged one. "I didn't think I heard him say a healing spell when he 'healed' you."

"Comes up always after two o'clock," said Draco, joining them at the mirror and surveying Hermione carefully as though just ready to take offence from her. "Discovered it by luck. I always touched his face when it came up – it reminded me of Father."

Harry turned to him.

"So you really _were_ touching my face at night! I always thought I was dreaming or something."

"Oh, I'm flattered, Harry," said Draco sweetly, fanning himself.

"But why would Malfoy want to leave a mark on you like this?" asked Hermione.

Ron snorted and mumbled something under his breath.

"I'm sorry, none of us caught that," said Draco tersely, his careful expression now on Ron.

"Like I said, he wanted to leave a lasting impression on Harry here, and he did," said Ron. It couldn't be more obvious that that wasn't what he had murmured.

Draco narrowed his eyes at him.

"Maybe he simply wanted to lead you here, to that there." Hermione turned to the armoire.

Ron snorted in amusement. "Neh, I reckon it's his trademark."

Blaise walked over to the armoire and tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. He took out his wand.

"Tried everything – didn't work," deadpanned Draco, as he came over. He shook his head as he tugged on the knob, opening the armoire. Draco froze – he did not seem to have expected this to happen.

The others came over and huddled around Draco, who opened the other door of the armoire to reveal a stone basin swirling with white wisps immersed in a substance that Harry couldn't tell was in any recognizable phase – it looked neither solid, liquid, nor gas; this stone basin was clearly a Pensieve.

"What the…?" said Draco, looking thoroughly confused. "But I had tried to open this thing and it wouldn't budge all this time!"

"Maybe Malfoy was hiding something he didn't want you-" Ron subsided into mewls of pain as he nursed his assaulted ribs courtesy Hermione.

"He wasn't alive when I tried to open it, you daft git," said Draco. Nevertheless, his peered into the Pensieve curiously. "I've never seen this here before, even when we came here years ago."

"What is this thing, anyway?" asked Ron.

"Oh this is priceless!" said Draco incredulously, swiftly turning around and ogling up at Ron, who now appeared to regret ever opening his mouth. "You don't know what this thing is?"

Hermione avoided Draco's eye as well.

Lips pursed, Blaise was shaking his head as he looked Ron up and down, appalled.

"It's a Pensieve, Ron," said Harry.

Draco scowled at him, no doubt because Harry had cut his fun short, for Harry knew Draco would have loved to draw this out and dig into Ron's lack of knowledge.

"You don't play fair!" Draco grumbled. He turned to the Pensieve again, searched his robes automatically, and then froze. "Er… where's my wand?"

"Where did you last have it?" asked Harry bitingly and suddenly, nostrils flaring.

Draco didn't look back.

"Did you check on the ground on your way here?" continued Harry. "Just before the cliff face? Didn't you drop it there just before you took that free fall over the cliff?"

Draco's neck rose with colour.

"Merlin, Potter, you're relentless. Stop acting like such a bitch, man." Blaise searched his robes and produced Draco's wand. Harry glared at him.

"Thanks," said Draco shortly, taking his wand. He poked the substance in the Pensieve and gave it a good swirl; a wispy, reddish colour emerged. Draco looked back at them. "Should we all go in or…?"

"What do you mean 'go in'?" asked Ron, as he peered obtrusively over Draco's head into the Pensieve, twisting his neck this way and that the better to view.

"Why don't you and Potter go? We can wait back here," said Blaise.

Ron and Hermione looked thoroughly dumbfounded and rather irritated at them.

"Go where?" asked Ron. "In there?"

Harry looked at Draco, who shrugged under Ron's chest. "Weasley, hold yourself, you'll get to see! Bloody rural folk!"

"Low blow, Malfoy!" barked Ron.

"You were asking for it," said Blaise. "So you're going to allow us in with you?"

"What choice do I have with Beasley here climbing over me? After me." As soon as Draco bent over (Ron jerked away from his bum) and his nose touched the tip of the surface of the Pensieve, he fell into it.

Ron's eyes bulged.

"Draco, oh my goodness!" howled Hermione, clearly thinking that Draco had been lost from the world again.

Harry fought hard to keep from bursting with laughter, while Blaise clamped down on his lips, his eye tearful with mirth.

Harry stepped forward and bent over the Pensieve before he could lose his fight with his lungs.

"Harry!" said Hermione in alarm.

"It's okay, Hermione," said Harry, who was under much strain as he tried to keep himself in check. "He's just gone into a memory. This Pensieve is a container for memories. Dumbledore had one I once went into. Besides, if Draco is somehow still in danger…" Harry could barely finish his sentence. "…I would need to go after him, wouldn't I?"

This seemed only to heighten Hermione's sense of panic.

"But, but-!" she spluttered.

"Don't worry, it's safe. You'll follow soon. Blaise will guide you." Harry bowed his head into the Pensieve, Hermione looking thoroughly nervously from behind, and he was falling into nothingness.

He was falling…

Falling…

And…

He was standing next to Draco in a circular room littered with tasselled pouffes, low chairs, and filled with a reddish hue and nostril-irritating incense. Harry didn't any have fond memories of this room. There were a lot of adults in the room, but the thing that managed to draw Harry's eye even through the thicket of bodies was a stunning sheet of platinum-blond hair hanging behind the back and draped luxuriously on the broad shoulders of Lucius Malfoy. Next to him was his wife Narcissa Malfoy, her hair styled in a tight golden bun. They were both dressed in sweeping beautiful robes. There was a long scream, and Harry looked up to see Hermione tumbling towards them to land on her feet next to him, yet she continued screaming. Ron and Blaise joined them lastly.

"What—what the…?" said Hermione, looking back and forth. "Where are we?"

"Trelawney's classroom," answered Harry.

After a moment, Hermione gave a subdued, "Oh." Harry knew that this was the very last place in which Hermione thought she would find herself after storming out of it in third year and never returning.

Harry's eyes went to Draco besides him to see him absorbing every inch of his parents with his slightly widened eyes.

"Let's get closer," Harry said empathetically.

They inched further towards Lucius and Narcissa, who were inconveniently standing right at the front. They minded the other adults, forgetting they could walk freely through them, and came to a stop next to a younger-looking Lucius and Narcissa, the former's nostrils slightly widened in disgust as he took in the classroom. Narcissa, with a small pregnancy bump, had a pleasant smile on her face, and there was nothing dreamy about it.

"I really don't know why we're wasting our time here," said Lucius. "I can't see the attraction in sending our soon-coming child in a school we have experienced and loathe right from that abomination of a dwarf for a Charms teacher, that repulsive Squib laughably called a caretaker, or that doddering old codger by the name of Albus Dumbledore. Once more I suggest we take our leave right this moment and head over to a more suitable school – as school such as Durmstrang perhaps. Their curriculum is quite appetizing."

"Come now, Lucius, you're being melodramatic. It isn't so bad here, is it? That man you just insulted has grown on me despite myself."

"Really?" said Lucius, politely surprised. "I didn't know you cherished a fetish for milf."

"Lucius," said Narcissa, with a scandalized smile.

Trelawney entered in a dramatic flourish.

"Welcome, welcome, parents, to my humble abode on this open day-!" she began in her usual misty voice.

Harry, rather than finding this pretentious, was rather comically amused by it. Why did it take someone to lose his or her life for him to start enjoying the little things in life?

"You live here?" drawled Lucius.

"That is correct, sir," said Trelawney, making even such words of hers trail. "I'm here to of course give you a taste of what your children will be studying once they reach third year. Divination is a sacred art above all others!"

Lucius cast a look of longing towards the trapdoor.

Trelawney continued praising both herself – more accurately, her 'Inner Eye' – and the subject of Divination itself. The introduction was over some minutes later after the parents had been subjected to divine scrutiny by Trelawney through her teacups, crystal balls, and tarot cards.

"The three white swords shine upon your darkness!" she screamed at Lucius and Narcissa, who exchanged glances, but Lucius looked more sceptic than Narcissa.

Some minutes later, the parents, some of them looking obviously annoyed that they had been predicted to die numerous times, climbed down the silver ladder descending to the third floor. Since Lucius and Narcissa had been the foremost of them all, they had to wait for every other person to climb down, and so for a moment just after Narcissa turned around and began lowering herself to put a high heel on a rung, they were alone with Trelawney in the classroom, and then there came a harsh, grating voice behind them like a flu-riddled vulture cawing.

"HE WITH THE POWER TO UNDO THE TIES OF SERVANT AND MASTER, THE CHOSEN ONE'S BANE, THE CHOSEN ONE'S BEAU, WILL BE BORNE BY THE FIRST SUN FOLLOWING THE DARK LORDS'S FIFTY-FIRST MARK OF AGE!"

Harry had heard this kind of voice before from Trelawney, and he had seen her this way before, with her mouth slack and her eyes rolling in her head. Lucius and Narcissa, however, had not, judging by Lucius slowly turning around and raising a bemused eyebrow, and Narcissa freezing as she stood poised to descend the stairs.

"I beg your pardon?" said Lucius coolly.

Trelawney, as with Harry in third year, seemed not to have heard him. Her eyes merely continued rolling in her head as she continued in that harsh, hair-raising voice.

"PALE AS THE SILVER MOON, IN HIS FATHER'S IMAGE!

"PRETTY AS HIS MOTHER, HE WILL FALL UPON AN AGE!

"POSSESSED HE WILL BE BY A FOUL, LURKING SPIRIT!

"PROSPER HE WILL WHEN THE FINAL SPELL SPEARS!

"HE WILL CHARM THE MANY WITHOUT A SINGLE TRACE OF SWEAT!

"BUT NEVER WILL BE FIND PEACE AND LOVE AT THEIR BREASTS!

"WHOSOEVER HE SHALL SEARCH, HIS PASSION THEY WILL NEVER RUPTURE!

"FOR HE WAS TAKEN BY A DARK SPIRIT FOREVER CURSED FOR A FAST NATURE!

"HE WITH THE POWER TO AID OR TO END THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORNE BY THE FIRST SUN OF THE DUE YEAR…"

Trelawney went quiet and her head dropped on her chest.

Lucius was frowning delicately at her, as was Narcissa.

Lucius opened his mouth.

"Right," he said shortly. "Well, she certainly has a sense for flair, an unusual one at that, yet who said Divination wasn't unusual. Well then, Cissa, off we are."

With a lingering look at Professor Trelawney, who was snoring by the sleep-inducing fire next to the wafting incense, Narcissa climbed down the silver ladder, Lucius following her. Harry and friends followed.

"It was amusing at the least," drawled Lucius, as they set off down the corridor, straightening his attire unnecessarily.

"I'm glad she could entertain you," said Narcissa gently. "I, on the other hand, can appreciate the caution of which she speaks."

"Really?" drawled Lucius, one eyebrow raised. "You found her instructive in any way?"

"At least we know our child is a boy," said Narcissa smartly, rubbing her belly affectionately.

Lucius snorted delicately. "If you were gullible enough to believe any of it. I thought you better than that, Cissa; I think I must have simply overestimated your-"

"Lucius, I don't think it prudent of us to face the other way in ignorance," interrupted Narcissa in such a soft way that it seemed neither impolite in the slightest nor to be meant for Lucius' ear, and once again it spoke to Harry of that unspeakable elegance of hers which burgeoned beyond description. "What she spoke of was too specific to just be frivolous bilge, and the way her countenance seemed… We must keep our minds open."

"The only thing I'm keeping open is an eye out for the exit," said Lucius dismissively, casting said unimpressed eye at the tapestries and portraits hanging on the walls, lingering on a portrait of Sir Cadogen trying to yodel. "I'm enough of this place. It was bad enough that I had to school here. Aren't you tempted in the slightest by the chance of our child studying at Durmstrang?"

"Not in the slightest," said Narcissa. "Lucius, you've already decided on how you're going to raise our child for the glory of our Lord; at least allow me to pick a school for our child of my own choice."

The world shook and shifted, and for several seconds it streamed with a million colours until it finally reformed around them. They were now in a vast lush garden that grew denser and wilder further up. The sky was a dull evening littered by a few clouds. Something caught Harry's eye a distance from them – a huge edifice.

"Where are we now?" asked Ron.

"We're in my home town," said Draco. "That's the manor there."

They had all caught this sight at which he was pointing.

"That's a mansion!" said Ron.

"Clearly," drawled Draco.

"You own that whole thing?" asked Ron, who did not sound insulted in light of such an amazing sight.

"What do you think?" said Draco, looking around.

Ron gave him a reappraising once-over.

"I wonder what Seamus would've said," said Hermione plaintively.

There was the sound of children playing.

"Goyle, let off! We're not supposed to be playing here so far ahead and so late!" said a high, giggling tenor, and a few moments later a chubby, very rounded boy and a much smaller, slighter, and paler boy came into their view.

"We should head back!" said a younger Draco, who looked barely six years old.

Ron snorted. "To think he'd never lose his baby fat," he said of Goyle.

"Come on, just a little further!" said Goyle, wobbling carefully past them and heading for the wilder stretch of the garden.

"Goyle!" squeaked Draco, his big, grey eyes wide, looking from the manor to Goyle disappearing in the thicket. "We're not supposed to go that far! Father will kill us!"

"You're a big fat chicken, face it!" Goyle tossed over his big shoulders, which Harry thought was a bit rich considering who resembled a big fat chicken more between the two of them.

Draco looked back one more time at the mansion and hissed in anxiousness before running after Goyle in a rapidly dimming evening.

"First one to run loses!" called Goyle, who was already panting, Draco meekly following him in his wake.

"But I don't remember this," said the real Draco, frowning.

"Maybe it had something to do with what Voldemort said back in that dungeon, remember?" said Harry. "He said he wasn't the only one to meddle with your memories."

Goyle and Draco headed further into the bushes, each step further onwards seeming to test their fate.

A leave rustled; Goyle's small, piggy eyes contracted with fear – he froze. Draco bumped into him and bounced back onto the ground.

"What is it?"

"Nothing!" squeaked Goyle, even as he swivelled his still raise foot the other way and started trotting back. "Er… you know… you did say it was a bad time this… bad idea…"

"Ha! Who's chicken now!" said Draco victoriously, crossing his arms, smirking at Goyle's retreating back, unaware that behind him something was looming.

"Oh well, I lose this one!" trilled Goyle hastily, conceding defeat readily. He looked over his shoulder and his small eyes bulged. He wailed as he pelted out of the bushes as fast as his chubby legs could carry him.

"Running back, are you?" said Draco in amusement, as he took a step after him and looked over his shoulder. He froze.

A pale-gold glow was shining through the greenery. It grew and grew, mesmerizing Draco all the more, until smoke somehow emitted from the light. The smoke drew together and consolidated to form a small cloud roughly the size of a head with two gleaming strikingly blue eyes.

Draco's jaw dropped to the dead leaves on the ground, and he walked back slowly but still transfixed at the sight in front of him, as was Ron, Hermione, Blaise, Harry, and the fifteen-year-old Draco.

The mass of smoke started pulling itself in different directions, two tendrils extending downwards, one to the right, another to the left, until standing in front of them was a hologram of a naked young man so ethereal he was radiating a light of his own apart from the pale-gold light brightening the clearing. When the man gained more substance and became more solid, Harry thought he had never met a more beautiful man in his life. He was not as pale as Draco, a little darker, but he had pure-white hair as long as Lucius', with the most beautiful cerulean eyes Harry had ever seen, an attractive pointy nose – as attractive as noses could be – and equally pointy ears resembling those of elves. Together with his triangular face and pointy nose and ears, it rather rounded of the striking, slightly elfish look nicely. He had lines of bumps running down from his shoulders to the round bone of his wrists, and others from his clavicles past his nipples, bordered his abdominal muscles, ran down his hips, the sides of his knees, and all the way down to his ankles. His long, slender legs carried him forward. He was frowning at Draco and taking in his surroundings.

"Er—who are you?" asked Draco meekly, who wasn't backing up anymore but whose eyes were giving the man ceaseless once-overs. Harry saw his cheeks flush as he stared at the young man's manhood. He couldn't blame young Draco, the man was extremely well-endowed, and there were barbs along his penis as well.

"Forgive me, but I was about to ask the same thing, little boy," said the man, in a breathy, pleasant voice like a cool breeze over one's skin. The man's brilliant blue eyes narrowed at younger Draco. "Where am I?"

"In my backyard," said Draco tremulously.

The man looked around and then returned his eyes on Draco.

"My name is Marlow Bryce," said the man, who did not look a day over twenty-eight. "I was sentenced to live out the remainder of my life in this form. Well, 'remainder of my life' is not technically correct. I've lost count of the years. Certainly three hundred years isn't too bad a guess to hazard."

Young Draco seemed to be catching little of this. He merely stared gaping as the man swept past with an effortless grace, peering towards the huge manor ahead. He turned back to Draco. Harry did not fail to realize he had blocked Draco's way.

"What is your name?"

Young Draco drew himself to his fullest height and straightened his shoulders.

"My name is Draco Malfoy. Pleased to meet you," said Draco, and as he said this, he seemed to recollect a measure of confidence, not to mention a shadow of his pomposity. He seemed entirely unaware that his automatic polite tag of 'pleased to meet you' was quite ill-fitting to the situation.

"The similar sentiments returned to you," said Marlow kindly, giving Draco half a smile that more than reached his blue eyes.

"I don't mean to be rude, but you're intruding on private property," sniffed Draco in his cute tenor, folding his arms.

The pomposity couldn't have been more pronounced in Draco's voice now. It was rather adorable. Harry hastily wiped off an amorous smile that had spread across his face unchecked.

"So it seems, but I beg your pardon, my young prince," said Marlow. "Of all places to be it could only be fortune to bring me here."

"Fortune?" inquired Draco.

"Perhaps," said Marlow. He approached Draco and went on his knees, peering up at him. "See, I have been cursed to his kind of life."

"Cursed?" said Draco.

"Yes, I was once an ordinary person like you, living out my life disturbing no one… Well that's not entirely true either. You see, I was – er – more licentious than the average person. I had many girlfriends all over, I slept with any and every woman I could."

Harry was rather shocked that the man could say these things in front of a child, and Draco appeared to share his feelings, yet neither of them could expect otherwise of a man who had sprung up in the bush, so to speak.

"I lived the high life, travelled, drank, dined, explored – anything you can think of. I had no trouble with charming the ladies – it was almost a gift of mine. But one day, while I was reclining with a lady friend-"Ron snorted. "-into the bushes to—er… yes, you get the picture… and then there came a time where she went back into the car where our raving friends were making a racket to fetch more rum and I was alone in the bush for a time.

"Something white flashed in the corner of my eye – I turned around quickly and encountered a spirit floating freely in the air. But before I could take any more of it in, it swooped down at me, and I had never been the same ever since. I haven't always looked like this, and I haven't aged a minute. I've been gifted the tools to seduce-"

"With those looks it's hardly doubtful…" whispered Hermione.

Ron scowled at her in an injured sort of way; she may as well have shoved her elbow into his side or trampled on his bleeding heart.

"-I have been cursed to hunt down every woman I've ever slept with and engage them again. And if they aren't alive, I am forced to ravage their corpses.

"I'm an Incubus. I will do it because I have an incorrigible urge to, but while I am with them, I am filled with a painful numbness – I cannot feel what they feel, I cannot reach the heights of passion that they reach. I just do it for the sake of doing it. It is, as decided by some divinity or deity if you will, my penance for the ravenous life I had lead before that moment that spirit swooped on me. I had enjoyed so much. This time I enjoy so little, if at all. It's rather humbling, you see; I wouldn't have had the patience I'm exercising now of conversing with a mere five-year-old."

"So," said Draco slowly, clearly trying to pack all these words up into a simple picture he could understand, "you hunt women down to bugger them but you don't have fun like they do?"

"That is a very apt summary, yes," said Marlow, bestowing a wider smile on Draco. "Most impressive."

Draco grew a few more inches taller.

"And you can never stop yourself?" he asked, frowning again.

"If I wish for respite from this cursed life, I would have to discover love – something I confess I never did in my life before this one, for I never bothered to look for it, so simply lust-driven I was. I will have to find that one person I would love with my entire being, who consumes me completely, and consummate our love – at that point, the immortal spirit will leave me, and I will be free again."

"But then that still doesn't explain why you're trespassing in this garden," said Draco, who seemed to be catching on only vaguely and was perhaps venting out in his hostility.

"It simply was in my way," said Marlow, his voice falling quiet ominously.

"But you're leaving now, aren't you?" asked Draco.

"Certainly, young prince; I indeed do sense I'm not welcomed-"

There were crunching noises.

"Draco?"

Draco gasped.

"That's Father!"

There were more crunching noises before Lucius came into view, platinum-blond hair whipping about his face, a few leaves stuck in it. Goyle was cowering at Lucius' midriff, pointing a trembling finger at Marlow.

With his jaw tightened, clearly looking threatened or furious, Marlow turned extremely pale such that he seemed to lose substance again, rather like how Draco had become when he and Ron started fighting.

"Who are you and what are you doing with my son?" demanded Lucius.

"And I shall hereupon take my leave!" said Marlow.

The light illuminating the clearing followed Marlow, who from insubstantial turned into downright smoke again to dodge a curse from a furious Lucius. The smoke streaked through Draco's chest, out of his back, and shot into the air like a shooting star and out of sight.

"_Lumos_," said Lucius, in the sudden darkness, and light flooded the area once more. He loped over to Draco, who had collapsed on the floor, and held his head up from the ground, studying his son's sickly pallor and near-blue lips. "Who was that man, Draco?" Lucius whispered, but his son didn't respond.

The scene morphed and twisted until Harry and friends were flying through whirling colours and blaring white noise until they landed into a large, white room with a four-poster bed next to which Lucius and Narcissa were standing, looking on as what looked like a doctor hovered over a sleeping Draco with his silk emerald sheets tucked up to his neck.

"That's preposterous, he was sick less than three days ago!" barked Lucius, pinning his glare on the man observing Draco and shaking his head helplessly. "His mouth had gone blue and he was extremely pale!"

"I—I—I see nothing wrong at all, I do not know what to tell you, Mr Malfoy, pardon me!" gibbered the man in a fading, scratchy voice.

"You will know what is good for you if you heal my son!" growled Lucius, as the man stood up, seeming to have decided there was nothing more he could do.

"Mr Malfoy, I beg your understanding, I have run every single test I could fathom! As you saw with your own eyes, I called upon every expert I had at my disposal-!"

"But it's clearly not enough!" bellowed Lucius, his fists trembling on his sides.

"I don't remember this either…!" said the real Draco next to Harry.

Harry rubbed his arm and held him close.

The doctor shook his head, clasping his bag. "There is only so much we can do as medical professionals, Mr Malfoy. But I'm confident that there is simply nothing wrong with your son."

"Lucius," said Narcissa, holding onto Lucius when he took a step towards the doctor, who failed exceedingly to conceal his fear but quickly corrected himself, tottering towards the door. "You know your way to the Apparition chamber, doctor?"

"Er—certainly, miss, I do," said the doctor quickly, and he disappeared after the ornate door clicked shut, and at this point Draco moaned.

In mid-stride towards the door, clearly intending to give the doctor more than a piece of his mind, Lucius swiftly changed direction and approached the bed with his wife.

"Draco?" he said.

Draco's eyelids fluttered open. He didn't look the slightest bit peaky; in fact, he seemed to have a beautiful glow about him. Draco looked at both his parents with grey eyes so beautiful and sparkling that again Harry felt as though he were staring into two cauldrons of melting silverware.

"Father," croaked Draco.

As soon as he heard his name, Lucius shook his head, cleared his frown, lifted himself from the bed, and straightened his robes unnecessarily.

"Well, everything is in order, it appears," he said in a carefully modulated voice, quit far from looking furious now. "You should get more rest, Draco."

"Are you all right, my dragon?" asked Narcissa softly, smoothing Draco's forehead.

Draco nodded.

"Draco," said Lucius, taking a white-and-purple-striped bag from the bed-side drawer with the letters S. S. S. on it and opening it, throwing a sneer through the wall towards the doctor heading to the Apparition chamber, "I do not know how that… man… wound up in our garden let alone why he was in his nature's suit, but your mother and I have bought you-"

Draco sat up quickly and eyed the packaging with spoilt greed.

"-something that will make certain you will not fall into such danger again outside the walls of the manor. From now on you will take it wherever you go, do you understand me?"

Draco nodded vigorously, his eyes still on the package.

"Even if you go off to Hogwarts some day." Lucius glanced at Narcissa almost sulkily. "Your mother and I would welcome the assurance that you were in safe hands. I do not for a minute place any store on Dumbledore's security measures ever since he appointed that vile oaf Hagrid."

He pulled out from the packaging from Shepstones' Special Services the Chassio and handed it to Draco, who took, studied it, and attempted to put on his wrist. His whole arm seemed to be swallowed by the Chassio. He continued exploring it, pressing various buttons and levers. He then placed it on top of his bedside drawer, whereupon Narcissa and even Lucius smiled fondly at him.

"Can I have word with Draco alone?" said Lucius to his wife, who nodded and swept out of the room.

"Draco," said Lucius, slipping his wand out of his robes slowly, "I don't think having recollection of that terrible experience will better your life in any way, do you?"

Clearly frightened, Draco shook. "No, Father."

"So I think it would be best to remove it completely, wouldn't you agree?"

Draco nodded.

Lucius smiled. "Don't worry, you will not recall any of this, even what I am saying as we speak. I want you to close your eyes and for the last time think about everything that happened in that garden outside."

Draco nodded and closed his eyes.

"Good, Draco, now calm down, this will not hurt… Are calming down? Good."

Lucius waited for a full minute in which Draco's eyes had peeked open several times until he didn't know what and when to expect anything anymore, and then Lucius cast a spell to his temple, and a few moments later he was extracting from it a gossamer tendril and inserted into his own head. He repeated this two more times, after which there fell a dense darkness around them, and the next moment Harry and company were rising through the air.

They were rising…

Rising…

And…

They all fell backwards and crashed on the floor into each other. They found their feet again and stared around at each other, but most of them were avoiding Draco's eyes.

"That was very illuminating," observed Blaise, dusting himself.

Draco drifted over to the bed and sat on it slowly.

"Explains why you were running through them like the world was coming to an end," said Blaise.

"Explains why you went see-through when you were fighting with Ron," said Harry.

"You're an Incubus," said Hermione

"But… but…" said Draco, shaking his head.

Harry went over and sat next to him on the bed. He said, "I'm thinking Lucius didn't want you to find out what Trelawney said about you, that you had been harassed by a naked man, and how worried he was about you when they thought you were sick."

Lucius' words from his diary rang in Harry's ears: '_This is a question I fear I can only answer in part, and in answering it I would have to trudge back into old memories best left unstirred...'_

They had certainly stirred those memories all right.

Draco turned to him.

"But why would he want to hide that from me?"

Harry shrugged. "Especially if he didn't believe any of what Trelawney said. Or maybe he actually did…"

"But if he did, he would have known you two were together when they came to fetch Draco at Hogwarts," argued Hermione.

"You think he knew?" asked Harry in astonishment.

"Oi, those marks are gone," said Ron to Harry, whose face indeed wasn't glowing with two diagonal silver lines.

"I don't think so," said Hermione, ignoring Ron and shaking her head, "I mean, they must have been in their twenties in that memory in Trelawney's classroom-"

"Twenty-five," interrupted Draco.

Hermione nodded. "I don't think Lucius would have believed that his son could 'untie' his bond to Voldemort as his servant if he was thinking of raising him for Voldemort's approval, according to Draco's mother. He was still a supporter by then, yes, but he probably didn't even know who the 'Chosen One' was or even if he existed yet, and even if he did, I don't think he would have thought it would a boy because Trelawney said Draco would be the Chosen One's beau, which is a male lover, and of course we know about Wizarding society and homosexuality – oil and water."

"So if he didn't take her seriously, why did he still extract the memory?" asked Harry, still puzzled.

"He might have just wanted to make sure," said Blaise, coming to a stop in front of them. ""He with the power to aid or to end the Dark Lord…' – that's hardly pleasing news for a follower."

"Either way it still doesn't make it certain," said Hermione, "and what if that prophecy wasn't even true?"

Ron smirked.

"I think it is," said Harry, remembering Hermione that detested Divination and the teacher who taught it, for which Professor McGonagall had the greatest sympathy. "When she made the prophecy about Voldemort coming back to life, she was acting exactly like that – the same voice, the same look, the same everything."

Hermione did not look convinced.

Harry continued before she could object, "Anyway, we know it's true now because as you said, she said 'the Chosen One's beau', and the Chosen One just happened to be a boy. Draco is my boyfriend."

"But that implies you're the Chosen One," said Ron, eyelids aflutter.

Everyone in that room stared at him.

"What?" asked Ron meekly.

"Of course he's the Chosen One – the whole Wizarding world knows it," said Draco.

"I figured that much, yeah," said Harry, who had never encountered the term before but felt it fitting, like a glove, even though he did not cherish it in the slightest.

"The best way to see if it's true is if indeed Draco was born a day after Voldemort's fifty-first birthday," said Hermione. "Your birthday is on the first of January—er—nineteen eighty, right?"

Draco nodded.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Anyone have any idea when Voldemort's birthday is?"

Ron snorted.

"Sorry, I was just imagining his birthday party."

"No one knows that, so forget it – it's true, Hermione," said Harry. "Besides, Draco was born on New Year's Day – the first day of the year – 'the first sun of the due year?'"

"Oh, right," said Hermione, and she cleared her throat with dignity.

"So what happens now?" asked Blaise pragmatically.

After a few moments in which no suggestion was raised, Hermione said slowly, "Now I think we learn as much as we can about what is an Incubus. But most important of all, we need to find a way to kill Voldemort."

No one in the room flinched.

"And how do we start with all of that?" asked Ron, grimacing in a familiar put-upon way.

"Only one place for that, Ron," replied Hermione with visibly mounting excitement, "where we were headed before – the library!"

Moments later, they passed under the signage _Libraria de Malfoy_.

"Where do we begin?" whispered Hermione, as she peered at the furthest parts of the library.

"Weird mysterious survival instincts perhaps," proposed Ron, with a sidelong glance at Draco.

"What did you say were you like again?" Hermione asked Draco. "You said you were smoky?"

Ron failed to contain a burst of laughter.

"Something like that," replied Draco in a tight voice as he glowered at Ron. "You saw that man in the memory – exactly like that."

"Right," said Hermione. "So an Incubus should be under magical creatures, shouldn't it?"

"Probably," replied Draco quietly, and then continued uncomfortably, "though I think it's sort of a dark creature, a dark spirit."

"Well, start searching, then," Hermione ordered all of them. She excitedly sprinted further into the library and whistled. Less than a second later a flash of grey whipped into sight, and the next thing Hermione was floating towards the top of the domed library, calling out books with her wand, utterly in her element.

With stooped shoulders, the boys started searching for books.

"Hermione, some of us want to use it too, you know!" Ron hollered at the hoover above them.

"Ladies first, Ronald!" said Hermione.

"Your wife, Weasley," said Draco, as he shook his head, a smirk on his lips.

Harry was searching in the O-section. The books he pulled out and left on the circular table running around the circumference of the library immediately put themselves back into their places. By the fall of half an hour, he had gone through countless books, from _Aristol's Guide to Sageship_ to _Zabaglione & Zucchini: A Comprehensive Cooking Manual for Your Tasteless Kitchen-Elves._

"You might like to know that magical creatures are in the F-section," called Hermione, as she floated above.

There were several hisses of annoyance from below before there was a great trek towards the F-section, where Draco was.

Draco said, "You could have just said 'magical creatures'-" The books on the table trembled; Ron jumped back. "-and the right books would have come to you."

"Why didn't you tell us before now?" asked Ron furiously.

"You simply did not ask," replied Draco smartly.

Harry climbed on the table and scanned the spines of the books, feeling that he was growing warmer with each book. He read on one spine of a dark-blue book, _Things That Go Bump in the Dark_, by Caster Grose. He pulled it out and continued along the row, reaching another one, _Devil's Critters_, by Demetrius Eisenhower. He took it out as well. Thinking he needed just one more to make it three, he went one level up and came face to face with a book with the title,_ Finding & Fostering Fantastic Fiends_, by Olga Braithwaite. He pulled it out as well, after which he jumped off the table and landed on the floor. He opened _Devil's Critters_ and searched the contents, went to the index and did not find 'Incubus'. He opened _Finding & Fostering Fantastic Fiends_ and ran down the contents. He found a promising section, _Sprites & Spirits_, and then zeroed in on the term for which he had been looking.

"Found it," Harry announced.

Looking vastly shocked, Draco shifted towards him and angled his head to look into the book as Harry turned to page three hundred and twenty-six.

Above, Hermione said, "What?" She sounded equally shocked that Harry had found it. She whistled again – something which Draco did not seem to appreciate – and a few seconds later she was huffing as she stepped off the hoover and sidled in next to him. Ron and Blaise read over Harry's head.

* * *

_Finding & Fostering Fantastic Fiends_, page 326, Section 5: _Sprites & Spirits_

**5.3. Incubus**

In contrast with its cousins, the Incubus' history is a clear one. Once spotted by a traveller winding through the bushes, the Incubus has migrated from the wild to the more populated areas.

The Incubus, described as a formless, floating spirit, that can readily assume the shape of an attractive young man usually in the midst of a female, is known to have a penchant for lurking around brothels and girl boarding schools, hence it is no stretch of the imagination that Beauxbatons Academy of Magic is a haven for them, and indeed a few complaints have been raised about pestering evil spirits lurking around the girls' dorm rooms and showers. However, these grievances have undoubtedly been eclipsed by the silently accepted and much enjoyed phenomena of the Incubus' curious trade.

Incubi, apart from being creatures of the night obviously, are what we may call creatures of the flesh as well. Never needing to feed or carry out bodily functions, they are known to seek out women and engage in sexual intercourse with them. They live an unfavourable eternity, however, forced to copulate as much as possible.

The reason for this remains unknown, though there have been several suggestions, a famous one of which is that Incubi are spirits of men who had in their previous lives led unchaste lives and sentenced to repay penance for them. They are apparently cursed to seek out the women with which they had slept over again, including any whom stray in their path randomly, until one day they find one for which they grow an unassailable infatuation or even genuine love, at which point they will return to the moment before they were made Incubi and can continue with their lives in the company, perhaps, of the women they cherish.

In its human male form, the Incubus has several physical features which enhance pleasure during penetration for both parties, including a long, pointed, serrated tongue and an abnormally (for the average male) long penis with a super-sensitive glans and hook-like bumps along the shaft. The Incubus can also offer a kind of electrical shock to the female as they copulate so as to heighten enjoyment.

Generally, Incubi are courteous towards those with which they mate, for they are on a never-ending quest to find the one with whom they will fall in love. There is, however, also a group that upon, once they decide that they will not climax, take off without sparing a glance in the female's direction, resuming the search for their next mate. The Incubus can only climax once it has found this special one, and at that moment it is said that they will be freed of the curse and return to their past lives to continue them from that age, and if lucky, alongside the woman with whom he had mated with in Incubus form.

Specifications

Incubus

Genus: beast

Family: spirits

Species: _incubo malavera_

M. O. M. Classification: X

Size: spirit: incalculable – gas-like; human form: roughly the build of an average young adult male.

Weight: spirit: 6.94x10-5 kg (1 gram ≈ 14.399957 Incubi); human form: roughly the weight of an average young adult male.

Habitat: formerly forests, now anywhere where there is a significant population of young to middle-aged females.

Diet: none

Life Span: ∞

Reproductive Cycle: N/A (they can pass on the curse – or infect – by being in contact with the subject only in the spirit form)

* * *

"Well, there you go," said Harry, sharply recalling a conversation between him and Draco whereby he had found out the scope of Draco's then promiscuity. He now knew why it was.

"You did say to me once you rarely got off," Blaise said to Draco, stepping back.

"I just thought they were nasty," said Draco.

"The kind of girls _you_ shagged?" Blaise asked incredulously. "Giselle Preston is nasty? Stephanie Harlem is nasty? Leigh Rowling is nasty?"

Draco shrugged and started manually returning the books he had used.

"So you're immortal – you can't die?" asked Harry sulkily.

"No," answered Hermione, "the Horcrux died in his place."

"But there were three Horcruxes in him," said Harry, "maybe he still has two more lives, who knows."

"No," replied Hermione, "Voldemort said he had _consolidated_ his Horcruxes – made them into one."

"Fine, fine," rapped Harry. "And it means you will never get satisfaction from sex until you find the one you love," he said, looking at Draco carefully. Harry swallowed. "Did—did you like-"

"Fauss and his gang were forcing me to, I couldn't properly enjoy it," said Draco quickly, referring to the time when Fauss and friends had trapped them in Draco's room and forced Draco to sodomize Harry, who had performed Occlumency and volitionally blocked out the experience.

"It also means you can turn all 'smoky' at a moment's notice," said Ron, clicking his fingers.

"I think I'm going to have to work at that," said Draco, grimacing.

"So where do we go from here?" asked Blaise.

"Well," said Hermione, looking equally offended by Blaise's enumeration of the girls with whom Draco had apparently had sex, "now we know why Draco is alive and breathing in front of us. We have to get back on the mission of destroying Voldemort, and luckily Draco here has done a huge deal for us!"

"And I thought we were going to travel the world," said Ron with false rue.

"So, there are no more Horcruxes remaining – Voldemort is mortal," said Harry, actually absorbing the words for the first time, and he had to admit that it rather did put a whole lot off his shoulders; he was almost grateful for it. "Can't I just waltz up to him and try a Killing Curse?"

Hermione looked at him.

"Harry, that is no joke!" she berated. "And how on earth were you able to do it back at Hogsmeade, anyway?"

Hermione gave Harry an uncomfortable once-over, for he thought it looked judgemental. He thought Hermione was wondering how saintly Harry Potter could be capable of such an evil thing as the Killing Curse.

"I wanted to kill him more than I ever did in my entire life," said Harry staunchly, drawing away from the room for a moment and tasting just a sip of that fury he had felt towards Voldemort then.

"I think even if Voldemort is mortal, we have to use each and every single means available to us to attack him and his forces," said Draco soberly.

"And we should start here," said Hermione, looking around the library.

"I think," said Harry slowly, his mind whirring, "we need to learn to Apparate and not rely on brooms." Ron was looking at him as though he didn't know him anymore again. Indeed, not wishing to rely on a Nimbus GK2.0 was questionable for an apparently Quidditch-crazy boy up until now. "We can try becoming Animagi, and I think—I think," he continued, shooting a nervous glance at Hermione, "I think we should consider using Dark magic."

There was a moment of silence.

"Excuse me?" said Hermione.

"There is no room for morality or righteousness anymore, Hermione! This is war!" said Harry with more force than he intended, but he felt judged. "Anyone who unlikely survives is gonna come out dirtier than they had ever been! It's a cost we must pay for survival; it's a necessary evil! I mean look how effortlessly Blaise can cast the Killing Curse, and he's not even half bad! We need to get rid of enemies that quick, making sure they're dealt with there and then so they do just wake up later and come back to try and do us in again!"

"I can't believe you're speaking like this," whispered Hermione.

"Yeah, mate, you're scaring me," said Ron, "I think you're stressed out with Draco dying and coming back and all…"

Harry made an exasperated noise. But he started wondering if he had really gone over the edge. Was he bad?

"We'll just—we'll just use spells that are not too Dark, you know," he said feebly.

"Harry, you cannot get any Darker than the Killing Curse," said Hermione, still staring at Harry disbelievingly as though she were seeing a whole new person in front of her.

"Learning to Apparate will require Ministry instruction," said Blaise. "And trying to become Animagi will take years."

"Thanks a lot, Blaise," snapped Harry.

Blaise gave him a contrived smile.

"But you get what I mean, don't you? We just have to try other things, we have to win!"

"It's like you're the way you were on that night all over again," said Hermione, shaking her head vaguely. "Harry, remember Dumbledore's words, we don't have to become as bad as they are."

"I'm just saying, Hermione," said Harry angrily, "we have to try something else, different things, anything! Did you see how they made us line up in front of four school boys like a firing line? They have utterly no mercy! No mercy! It's eye for an eye! It's time we get serious about fighting the Dark Arts!"

"Harry, I understand you're frustrated at-" began Hermione.

"Frustrated?" said Harry. "Frustrated?"

"But, Harry," said Ron uncomfortably, "tell me you're not thinking of actually offing someone."

"I know I would love more than anything to kill Voldemort with my bare hands," said Harry defiantly.

Ron and Hermione did not look surprised by this.

"Okay, Voldemort is an exception," said Hermione, seemingly minding Harry's close relationship with Voldemort and the vast and incomprehensible hatred that came with it.

"I'm not saying I want to kill like those Death Eaters can," sighed Harry. "I'm just saying we need to be as ruthless as they are at some point. We need to be practical about this stuff. This is war."

"As you keep reminding us," said Hermione. "Okay, I'm just agreeing that we can't be merciful as we would like—as we should be, but we definitely cannot use the Killing Curse. We can use the Imperius Curse."

"I don't know about you, Hermione, but I would definitely love to have that Bellatrix woman under a Cruciatus Curse," said Ron, with his eyes a little distant as though imagining it. It wasn't an unreasonable desire, for Bellatrix had after all killed Dean Thomas in cold blood, one crime amongst a myriad of them.

"Ron!" said Hermione.

"I'm there with you, mate," said Harry.

Hermione huffed. "No other Unforgivable but the Imperius Curse, can we agreed on that please?"

"Fine," agreed Harry.

"Fine," said Ron after a regretful moment.

"Thank you," said Hermione. "Apart from using one of them and restraining ourselves from using the others," she said severely as she looked so at Ron and Harry, "we still need to protect ourselves from them, particularly the Killing Curse."

"Draco has said already that the Killing Curse is impervious to any and all Shield and Protective Spells," sighed Harry, "and we found that out the hard way in Hogsmeade."

There was a pensive ripple among him, Ron, and Hermione.

"The Unforgivables _are_ impervious to all Shield Spells," said Draco slowly, "but I never said they were impervious to all _Dark_ Shield Spells…"

Harry stared at Draco.

"And I might be stretching my luck," continued Draco, a tremulous smirk on his lips, clearly enjoying the wonder with which they gaped at him, "but I think we may be able to find books on shortcuts in becoming an Animagus or Apparating – right in this library."

Harry and Hermione gasped in unison. "That blue book!" they yelled in union.

"Oh, not so disapproving of it now, are you?" said Harry in amusement.

Hermione slapped him.

"Where's that book, anyway?" she asked him.

"Er, I think I tossed it back under the couch in the sitting room," Harry replied, rubbing his shoulder.

Hermione clucked her tongue as she began heading out of the library. "Really, Harry, books are meant to be in the library, where they belong."

"First of all, we found it on the table in the sitting room when we first got here," argued Harry. "And where are you going? You're actually fetching it? I don't know about you but I'm not opening another book at THREE O'CLOCK IN THE EVENING!" he hollered futilely at her retreating back. "That woman, I swear she gets some kind of kick out of reading. It's unhealthy."

Draco made an obscene noise like someone having an orgasm. "Ah! I've finally finished this book, ah!"

They all laughed, though Ron had a strange flush to his face.

As he said, Harry wasn't about to pick up a book at three o'clock in the evening, neither, it turned out, was Ron, Draco, and Blaise, and so he and Draco retired to their bedroom, leaving Hermione to peruse the blue book about which they had been speaking. They entered the cold master bedroom (Draco repaired the blasted door), and took off their various accessories, which they laid on their bed-side drawers. Something in the corner of Harry's eye gleamed gold; he looked down and saw the golden M-necklace lying on the floor. He picked it up, padded around the bedroom and clasped it back around Draco's neck, where it belonged. He kissed Draco and pulled back.

Draco observed, "You do look smashing in that robe."

"Oh really?" said Harry, looking at himself and turning around, adoring himself.

Draco rolled his eyes with a smile.

"Thank you, babes," said Harry, as they opened the covers and slipped inside, not failing to observe that by this they appeared as a couple.

"Oh, the feel of sheets on my skin…" purred Harry, as he turned around in the covers luxuriously, relishing them at the back of sleeping on hay for more than two weeks.

Draco sighed happily, closing his eyes. "Heaven, isn't it?"

"More," said Harry simply. "I can't wait to see the sun tomorrow. Funny how you take these things for granted, eh?"

Draco quirked an eyebrow quietly.

Harry stopped twisting in the sheets and came to rest as he stared at Draco. They merely laid there staring into each other for minutes to follow. Draco turned and picked out from his bed-side drawer his Chassio. He held it up, studying it.

"So that's why I have this," he said softly.

"For when something or someone with bad intentions for you comes close," said Harry, paraphrasing Calypso's words from Shepstones' Special Services.

Draco fingered it quietly for a while until he put it back in the drawer and crept closer to Harry.

"Yet another long day, having too many of those these days, aren't we?" said Draco.

"Far too many," replied Harry, smiling sleepily.

Draco smiled as he touched Harry's chin.

"I'm literally in a new body, Harry, no stains of Voldemort or those Slytherins…" whispered Draco.

Harry opened his eyes more fully on Draco.

"Never do that to me again, Draco Malfoy," he whispered back as he tucked a lock of hair behind Draco's ear.

"Never, I promise," whispered Draco. "So do I still disgust you?"

Harry reached behind Draco and crushed his bum cheeks in his hands; Draco giggled. He turned around and tucked his bum into Harry's groin, and Harry spooned him all night long.


	13. Draco's Den

**Chapter 13**

**Draco's Den**

The first thing Harry wanted to do as soon as he woke up was check down at the rocks below the cliff. He knew what he would find, but he had an unrelenting need just to prove it beyond a doubt. Draco had already showered, so Harry enjoyed his shower alone. Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed in his eye-catching emerald robe and striding through the house into the sitting room, where he found Blaise and Ron playing Snitch and Draco and Hermione pouring over that sky-blue book, which was simply titled _The Blue Book_. The simplicity of evil...

"Morning, everyone," greeted Harry, as he flopped into the empty three-seater. He was still fighting against his urge to get out of the house and peer over the cliff.

Ron and Blaise grunted their greetings, while Draco and Hermione murmured back, "Morning."

Harry couldn't help but stare at Draco. He was the exact same Draco he had known before that moment yesterday when he jumped over the cliff and ended his life. Harry exulted in watching every stretch of skin of Draco before him. As Draco and Hermione bent over the book and muttered with each other on the table, Harry studied Draco's beautiful legs, and imagined the sweet discoveries he would find almost unsuccessfully veiled by the morning robe he donned. Draco peered over his shoulder, noticed what Harry was doing, and winked at him before delving back into the intense conversation with Hermione.

Blushing, Harry jumped to his feet and announced, "I'm going out for a stroll."

"Oh!" said Draco, as he began to get on his feet.

"No, you stay here and go over whatever you're going over with Hermione," ordered Harry, as he – unaware of Draco's eyes on his back – strode out of the room, through the foyer, opened the door, and took in a breath of fresh air. He savoured the smell as it turned fruity while he ambled through the pathway cutting through the vineyard. He watched where the earth abruptly stopped and suddenly gave way to nothingness at the very edge of the cliff with wary eyes. As soon as Harry came within ten metres of the edge he started crawling towards it. He knew he looked ridiculous, but he rationalized that safety far outweighed appearances in almost every instance.

His heart started running a mile a minute as he neared the edge, as he actually felt the breathlessness of the edge before even reaching it, as though he were already falling over it down onto the cataclysm of rocks and pounding waves below. His hands closed over the edge, a rush of vertigo sweeping through him. He pulled himself forward through the last few inches and stared breathlessly down at the peacefully raging shore.

And there it was.

Wincing in unease, Harry panicked as he tried to push himself backwards, rolling fearfully onto his back and taking in deep bouts of fresh, salty air.

The sight of Draco's crumpled body was decidedly sickening. It looked like a scarecrow rewarded a handful of flesh from the remnants of the world's share with a wig of sun-bleached seaweeds. Harry didn't know why he had chosen to do that; he could have continued on living without having to see that. Swallowing hard, he crawled away from the edge, and only when he was ten metres away from it did he rise to his feet, dusted his knees from gravel, and started towards the villa.

Oh yes, Draco definitely died, and he definitely rose again.

He walked back into the sitting room, sat back on the three-seater, and glanced at the clock above the grand mantle, which read 08:41; Harry was indeed surprised to find Ron awake at this hour, for Ron had developed a habit of waking just before nine o' clock and just before Tibby the house-elf was due to appear with their breakfast.

Harry lowered his eyes down to find Draco's on him. Draco was looking over his shoulder at him once more, leaving Hermione to prattle on her own. Harry raised his eyebrows enquiringly, but Draco did nothing but continue to stare at him. Harry couldn't see the lower part of his face, but by the way his cheeks looked, Harry was sure Draco was smiling or smirking. Obviously he was hoping for the former – it wouldn't make him feel as though he were missing a trick.

Hermione glanced at Draco perhaps to consult him on something but then noticed his inattention and at whom he was staring. She glanced over to Harry, back to Draco, and then resumed reading after rolling her eyes with a faint blush.

"What?" said Harry to Draco. Harry brushed his face in case something was hanging off it that wasn't supposed to be. But Draco merely shook his head, smiled wider, and re-entered into the discussion with Hermione about things in the book in front of them.

Frowning, and feeling wrong footed – an exhaustingly familiar feelings, especially when it came to Draco – Harry rather went over to Ron and Blaise for both reasons that he was feeling awkward towards Draco for his odd behaviour and that Ron and Blaise were engaging in a rather more appealing activity. Just before he settled himself, Harry swiftly changed direction from Blaise – one more person to avoid for another reason – and as soon as his elbows hit the table next to Ron, Ron handed him his Montrose Magpies Snitch disc, and they did battle to chase the minute hand towards nine o'clock.

During this time Harry lost thrice, Ron once and had paraded across the lounge chanting, "Chudley mighty Cannons! Mighty Chudley Cannons! This is the Cannons, the mighty, mighty, mighty Cannons!" and Draco had been reprimanded twice by Hermione.

"Do you want to go over there? You can barely keep your eyes on this book! You'll have time to ogle at Harry later! For now we need to do this!"

Hence, the period was a mixed bag of awkward, bashful, elated feelings; Harry was distinctly relieved to hear the all-saving wonderful music of the _POP! _announcing Tibby's appearance.

"Breakfast is served!" squeaked the elf, floating not six but five trays of hot, steaming breakfast.

"Ha!" sighed Ron gloriously, as he grabbed his tray out of the air, his hand blurring as it peddled food into his mouth.

Hermione clucked her tongue in disgust rather perfunctorily as she took her own tray. Soon the sounds of comfortable munching and slurping filled the room.

"What?" said Harry, for what felt like the umpteenth time at Draco, for Draco kept staring at him incessantly. Rather than finding it flattering, it was unnerving for the most part! It made him feel like a freak; every time he caught Draco glancing over his cup at him as he raised it to his lips, Harry would rub at something on his face to make certain that he really hadn't missed something in the shower with his facecloth. Hermione rolled her eyes again with a set of bulging cheeks as she smiled.

"So," said Blaise, after he sipped his coffee, "when are we starting Becoming Animagi 101?"

Hermione tore the smile from her face, finished swallowing, and replied in a business tone, "Yes, about that. Well, it turns out it's going to be just as or maybe even more complicated than the normal way even if it takes a whole lot faster to become one. There are very specific conditions we're going to have to adhere to in order that we don't hurt ourselves even permanently and that we get it right. Draco?"

"Yes," said Draco on cue. "It looks like a handful of things to do. First of all, before we even attempt to become Animagi we're going to have to make sure that we're not on a _full stomach_!" He directed these last few words specifically at Ron, whose reception of such news neither fazed nor slowed him from gulping down his food. Shaking his head hopelessly, Draco continued, "So we're going to have to be at top health-"

"I wonder how Wormtail transformed then," muttered Harry.

"Didn't Lupin say it took him a few tries more to do it?" said Hermione in amusement. "Or was it months?"

Ron snorted up his eggs and coughed out his tea.

Draco did not appear to appreciate this private knowledge between the three of them. He exchanged a glance with Blaise that promised that they would get them back with their own coded instances of understanding.

He nonetheless went on a little tersely, "Passing over Lupin's childhood antics with Rattail or whoever, we shouldn't be too full and too hungry to start. We should also be reasonably emotionally balanced-" His lips twitched as he carefully avoided looking at the girl next to him. "-so we should probably not try towards the end of the month." Blaise exhaled sharply as though he had just missed a step but contained himself swiftly. "This makes sure that the results don't vary too much and makes the transformation a whole lot easier to go through."

"Apparating is another business entirely," said Hermione promptly, giving no indication she was affronted. "We'll need that wide open area just before the cliff, or we could use the garden out there to practice in. It also requires that we aren't too full in the stomach and are of sound emotion and mind." She gracefully stepped over Draco's jibe. "We should first try it with the least amount of clothes possible and then work our way up to actually carrying stuff with us."

"Least amount of clothes?" said Ron, with a raised eyebrow while his eyes went up and down Hermione, practically undressing her.

"Gutter brain," said Hermione, blushing deep crimson. "Try cleaning your thoughts out, Ron, really, for once in a while."

"Did you manage to look for counter Unforgivables?" Draco asked Hermione quickly.

"No I didn't," replied Hermione a little impatiently. "Woke up at five today. We should have another go at the library today. There's bound to be something, right?" she asked anxiously. Draco nodded.

"I feel like flying a few," said Ron, tossing his words out carelessly or hopelessly and studying the crust of his toast intently.

Hermione sighed in irritation. "Boys!" she said sharply, at the all-too-well-known glint in Harry's eyes.

"Wanna get the Nimbus' out?" said Harry to Ron, entirely ignoring Hermione.

"Draco, tell them!" said Hermione, rounding on him. "Now's not the time for games!"

"When is it ever time for games in your opinion, Hermione?" said Draco, to the accompaniment of looks of surprise and satisfaction from Harry and Ron. "Besides, I wouldn't want to miss those legs of Harry's manhandling his broom..."

There was a loud silence. Ron looked as though he couldn't quite believe Draco had said what he had, Blaise wasn't too far behind him, Hermione, however, seemed even a little impatient, if a bit amused, and Harry was gazing at his toast, dazed as though a sudden gust of wind had swept through his empty head.

"I think that was all we needed to discuss?" Draco told Hermione.

"It isn't, for your information!" said Hermione hotly.

"What else is there?" said Draco.

Hermione's eyes whizzed left and right silently for a few seconds – she was clearly looking for a reason to detain the boys inside.

"We need to discuss bringing back Dean's and Seamus' corpses."

This managed to deflate the excited air of the boys.

"Hermione!" whined Ron in protest. "Did you just have to get all heavy again? We don't deserve this punishment for just wanting to play an innocent game of Quidditch!"

"The fact remains that Dean and Seamus aren't resting in peace as they should be!" said Hermione, unfazed. "So your Quidditch can stuff it!"

"Merlin, Hermione," said Draco. "Overkill."

Hermione at least did seem a little abashed now and uncertain of herself.

"So how do you propose we recover their bodies?" asked Draco. "Fly all the way back to Voldemort's lair. I'm sorry but I'm not risking my now mortal life for that. Sorry, Harry."

"But—but we have to do something!" said Hermione feebly; she must have sensed that the venture of which she was speaking was note viable.

"But think about it," said Ron in a very new and strange voice – it was a voice unmistakably struck with inspiration. "Would Dean and Seamus want us to go back there and risk our lives just for their bodies? I'm sure they're perfectly relaxing on soft clouds and eating Bludge Bars that don't run out up there and flying on Nimbus' day in, day out."

Hermione's eyes brimmed. "Oh those boys!"

"Hermione," moaned Ron. He stood up and went around Draco to hold her. "Don't do this to yourself! Don't think about it. They're happy where they are, yeah?"

After some minutes passed, Hermione calmed down, went about making herself busy for the sake of it, but then sought comfort as always in the library.

The boys looked uncomfortable going to zap around in the air in light of the sombre moment... So they waited about four minutes before they felt they had paid their dues and headed out in the crisp morning air. There was a stunning, buttery gold horizon above the cliff swirling amongst the sober clouds in the rousing sky. Seagulls and jaegers squawked and cawed as they landed and took off.

"Don't you ever think about what the Order's doing, you know, if they're looking for us or even going against Voldemort?" said Ron, as he, Harry, Draco, and Blaise headed out into the garden, brooms at hand.

"But I sent a letter to Sirius to tell them not to look for us," replied Harry. He wetted the tip of his finger and checked the breeze.

"Really? When was this?" asked Ron.

"When we were on Winox Lane, in ʼOseidon's Owl Outlet," answered Harry.

"Oh," said Ron shortly. "But it's weird though," he went on, "you'd think they'd just go ahead anyway and say we're just little tykes and don't know what we're doing."

"Even if they tried to find us they couldn't," said Harry. "This place is Unplottable, right?"

"Too right, Harry," said Draco, grinning at Harry, who found it decidedly strange and could only return it with a stumbling smile of his own.

Ron appeared to also notice how Draco's grin looked a little superfluous, but he left it and let the forces be with a vague look at the sky.

"Good day for brooming, huh?" remarked Blaise, walking silently next to Draco.

"Okay, two on two," said Harry, stopping just shy of the Pond of Prosperity where they had buried Draco's parents. "Ron and me versus you and Blaise."

Blaise's and Draco's head tilted sideways simultaneously.

"Why can't it be you and me?" asked Draco, as he rested his head on the handle of his broom and smiled.

"Er, well," said Harry. He had no clue what he was going to say to that. "You know, I—er—I thought friends versus friends would've been neat, you know."

"How about lovers versus friends?"

"Um," said Harry, his head feeling empty again, yet it couldn't be empty if it could feel so hot as he stood clueless in front of Draco. "Ron?" he said to Ron, beseeching his input.

"I don't think we're going to get through enough flying if you two can't keep your hands off each other long enough," said Ron.

Harry's eyes lingered on Ron, disbelieving, before he turned them to the sky.

"I second that," said Blaise, and he and Ron made an informal handshake in agreement. They seemed to be friends indeed.

"So friends versus friends it is then," declared Harry breezily. He mounted his broom, carefully avoiding Draco's eyes. "You've been outvoted. Where do we loop back?"

"The horizon," said Draco, staring at Harry. When Harry looked at him questioningly, he continued, "We go as far as we can."

"But I can't compete with your Nimbus brooms!" complained Harry. "You'll beat me flat on a straight for sure."

"Tough. That's life," replied Draco smilingly.

"We can go over the villa, can't we?" suggested Harry.

So soon they were tearing through the air. Harry and Draco had ditched their robes and dressed more appropriately. Blaise was in the lead, and lagging behind the rest was Harry in his obsolete Firebolt. Despite this, however, Harry never felt so comfortable being beaten (something that should be alarming for a Seeker); he loved his Firebolt; it was a relationship what he had with it. He felt it firm and sturdy under his hands, yet it melted under his touch with the slightest thought, and through the sky it glided as smoothly as upon slick oil. He made it last back to the garden and hiked back into the house with frozen cheeks and chapped lips. Draco took care of the latter even without the use of his Lip Balm Charm.

"Harry, Harry, I got them!" yelled Hermione in shivering excitement, as she whizzed through the house and found them in the sitting room rubbing themselves for heat. She spilled the books onto the table, and they landed with loud, tumbling thuds. "It's so simple like you won't believe!" she enthused, before warming them up with a wave of her wand. "I think this should be called the Darker Arts. I realized that the more you study the Dark Arts the more you see how nothing is really... nothing really sticks, you know? Nothing is certain. It's all convoluted and sort of self-defeating, reflexive in a way. There's a counter spell for almost everything, and even that has a counter! It sort of like builds and collapses. There are backdoors upon backdoors, illegal curses outdoing other illegal curses. Almost nothing simply stands. Goodness! It's really quite interesting!"

"Montgomery's Law," said Draco wisely, nodding. "'All is and nil is all'."

"I think I might have come across something like that," muttered Hermione frowningly.

"So do we get to see what you managed to find?" asked Harry, with an air of one who has categorically deemed himself removed from such a calibre of talk. Harry called it, 'swish swash', Ron called it 'clatter chatter', and others would call it 'mumbo jumbo'.

Hermione swiftly picked out a book from the mountain on the table. It more resembled a handbook and it was a little bigger than a pocket dictionary, though it matched its thickness. It had a scaly black leather cover, looked old but well kept, and had those stepwise dents on the edge of the pages as though someone had tried to gouge the book with his or her nails.

"Well, as we knew, there is no counter course for the Killing Curse," said Hermione, flipping through the book simply entitled _D. D. A_, "but there is a spell that can shield you from it, and I only found that spell mentioned once in that whole library, or at least the part of it I managed to cover, which is a lot." She smoothed out the gutter of the book, which was opened onto a chapter entitled _Undoing the Unforgivables_.

"So you can only test it out on a real Killing Curse?" said Ron frightfully, after reading the chapter aloud while they listened.

"Scary, isn't it?" said Hermione anxiously. "It only works if they are performed, so we can't really practice them. Oh these bloody illegal curses, why do they always have to have these exceptions and weird quirks?"

"That's the Dark Arts for you," said Draco in a disturbingly blasé way.

"Hm," said Hermione. "We could still practice the incantation, though. Come on, everyone say it. It may well save our lives one day."

They all said the incantation and practiced for the fifteen minutes to follow.

"At least we got the Killing Curse covered now," said Draco. "But of course you do know, don't you, that there're other ways, other spells to kill a person, may just not as quietly and cleanly and quickly as the Killing Curse?"

Hermione swiftly perused the other books carefully, leaving the boys to look amongst each other in their newfound unease. Some books were decidedly hair-raising, others reacted violently when they tried to open them, and a few caught fire when they tried to handle them. One had tried to suck Ron's face in. Harry got the feeling everyone wasn't trying too hard to fend the book off's Ron's face.

"Okay, now back to transforming into Animagi," said Hermione afterwards. The passionate book was safely trapped under Ron's foot. Hermione picked out a magenta book and then a dark-emerald book. She pulled out of the rubble of books a long parchment containing her own handwriting. "There are different shortcuts to becoming Animagi, so I took the information from the books and made a shortcut of the shortcuts. This is by far the easiest way to becoming Animagi. Only eleven steps!"

"Only just eleven?" said Ron.

"Yes," sniffed Hermione. "Ooh! This is so exciting! Don't you want to know what your Animagi forms will be?"

"I know I don't want to be a rat!" declared Ron. "How about a hawk or something! Flying over things and stuff! That'll be cool!"

"Ron, you don't choose your Animagus form," chided Hermione. "Your character traits do."

"Ah! Blimey!" said Ron in rue.

"Ha," said Harry knowingly. "How fitting for Wormtail."

"Hm," agreed Hermione, with a small crease on her nose that indicated her disgust, remembering Peter Pettigrew and his perfidious arse.

"A weasel would've suited you better, I think," said Draco, at which Blaise covered his mouth but couldn't contain his mirthful snort.

"I suppose you wanted to be a snake?" Ron retorted back at Draco, at which Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "Maybe that giant albino one you were looking at, eh? Would've suited your pasty arse nicely."

"Ron!" berated Hermione, her lips twitching violently as she fought them hard to stop them from letting out her whoop of laughter.

"She'd a make helluva beaver, don't you think?" muttered Draco to Blaise, who nodded and grinned.

Ron cleared his throat loudly and stumped his chest, clearly trying not to laugh in front of his girlfriend.

Seconds after this, the attention seemed to spontaneously and quietly shift to Harry, who hadn't been teased about which Animagus form he would best fit.

"What would Potter-?" began Blaise thoughtfully as he gazed at Harry.

"Careful there, Blaise," warned Draco sultrily. "That's my boyfriend you're looking at."

"...You're not serious, Draco," murmured Blaise, in disbelief that Draco could dash this opportunity to make fun of Harry legally whereas before he most probably relished it – not to mention initiated it to the point of the exhaustion of his audience in the Slytherin common room.

Harry turned his gilded cheeks to the books in front of them. If he had a choice, what Animagus would he want to be? He knew the answer before he even thought it, it felt: a stag, but he would be caught dead before he revealed that; it was personal, but a griffin would be laughably fitting and predictable.

"Back to business, everybody," said Hermione, rallying. She shuffled the parchment and books in her hands. "I'm guessing it'll take us a few weeks to figure it out properly. That shouldn't be too bad, should it?"

"Well," began Harry in a dry tone, "if only we could check Voldemort's diary."

Hermione sighed uneasily, wringing her hands. "And that's only the best possible scenario! I mean, it usually takes years for people to becoming Animagi. And we're not even expecting months! It'll be a close to a miracle if we pull this off."

"We've done bigger things, Hermione," said Harry reassuringly.

"Okay. Can we get on with it?" said Draco impatiently, as he stood up, ready to begin.

Hermione also rose to her feet. "I think we should practice in an open area or something; how about the garden? We could also practice Apparating at the same time."

"The garden it is then," declared Draco, as he strutted off. The rest followed him out into the splendid garden outside the house.

They spent the rest of the afternoon and nearly some portion of the evening in the garden practicing to Apparate and become Animagi, but Ron made it clear that he was not going to miss Tibby's call for dinner. So just before seven o'clock, after everyone's annoyance finally gave when Ron muttered, "_Tempus_," for the fifty-ninth time, they headed back into the house in the sitting room, where Hermione cast Warming Charms on them.

"Speaking of time," said Harry, "what day is this anyway?"

"Tuesday the twenty-eighth," answered Hermione promptly. "Funny how you worry about that only now."

Draco disappeared for a moment and then returned with a contraption quite resembling that which Harry had seen Voldemort levitate in his dreams to persuade Draco to dance naked for him.

Unfortunately, the magical world was only just discovering the wireless, so the programs were unsophisticated and revolved largely around news and music. After twiddling the knob, Draco found a station of classical music, and so for the duration of their wait for Tibby and eventual dining – much to Ron's ecstasy – they listened to the soft, soothing sounds of Wizottini.

"He was father's favourite tenor," muttered Draco, before Harry suddenly noticed tears rolling quietly down his bulging cheeks as he munched on his food. Harry couldn't decide whether to stay put or go over and comfort Draco. Draco was quite sedate, merely sniffing here and there with his eyes closed as he felt the music and allowed it to take him back to the past, to happier times. Harry stayed where he was.

"Draco, I think you should practice on your smoky thing," advised Hermione, when she deemed it safe to speak after Draco wiped his tears and gave a great sniff to clear his nose.

"What was that?" asked Draco.

Hermione reiterated carefully, "Don't you think you should practice becoming like—that thing that you became when you came back to life? Your Incubus form?"

Draco nodded after a moment, but then he said, "I wouldn't know where to begin, though."

"We'll figure it out, Draco," assured Hermione, with a warm smile. "We'll try everything."

Draco shrugged.

It struck Harry at that moment how Hermione's presence broke and relieved their flat masculinity. Such warmth and compassion in times such as this – whether fitting or not, whether trivial or momentous – was really what a bloke needed sometimes.

"I'll do it tomorrow," promised Draco decisively.

"What's wrong with now?" asked Hermione, as though she found nothing wrong in practicing in the middle of the night after an exhausting dinner.

Draco stared at her, and then his eyes swept the others', finding similarly flummoxed faces.

"No times like the present, right?" said Hermione, looking around as well. "We can't be wasting time unnecessarily. I really can't see why we can't try tonight."

"We?" quoted Draco, even more incredulously.

"Well unless you want to do it all on your own out there in the dark without our moral support..." said Hermione defensively.

Draco looked around again, perhaps looking for a clue. "Right."

"And how would our presence be needed, Granger?" asked Blaise sceptically.

"For the support," reiterated Hermione tightly.

"Oh the support?" said Blaise, in a tone which still hadn't quite lost its sceptic touch and which was plainly grating on Hermione's nerves. "I see, I see."

"So we're going to watch Draco try to transform into a blob of smoke?" said Ron. "Exciting."

"Don't start, Ronald," warned Hermione in a dangerous voice. Ron seemed to know this voice very well, for he subsequently cowed.

"You guys don't have to go, I'll go with him," offered Harry.

"Of course you would," said Blaise quietly, with that smirk that buckled with amusement.

Harry gazed threateningly at Blaise. It was one of those crude gazes that strongly hinted that the gazer was searching for something sharp, even ugly and unreasonable, and anything but physical with which to harm the gazee.

"Says someone with a bendy prick."

There was a moment of silence as a shockwave crashed around them.

"What's that?" asked Blaise quietly, his one eye narrowed at Harry not quite suspiciously yet. He was halfway – or rather one eye away – to figuring out what Harry meant.

Harry noticed that Hermione was holding fiercely onto Ron's thigh to deter him from bursting out into laughter, for he was shaking in his seat.

"It was nothing," replied Harry. He savagely relished the moment as he surveyed his spoon carrying his soup into his mouth.

Draco's eyes were full of tears and he was blinking hard. It seemed he had swallowed a mouthful too much of his soup.

Blaise didn't speak. Harry thought he was contemplating whether to stand down and save his pride or go ahead and risk its damage. But if Harry was right, Blaise was one of those people with the uncanny capability of coming out of snags such as these gracefully, not to mention on top.

"Oh I just was dreaming you were muttering something?" enquired Blaise, laying his slant-eyed gaze softly but demandingly on Harry.

Harry shrugged as he eyed his spoon again. "Maybe," he replied airily.

Blaise watched Harry calmly sipping his soup off his spoon.

Putting off the act that he hadn't heard what Harry had said, Blaise said, "Yet you couldn't get enough of it."

The soup in his mouth turned to sour bile. Harry's cheek glowed red as his jaw bone stood out against them.

"It wasn't because I wanted it," assured Harry in disgust. "Those Slytherins-"

"Excuses, excuses, excuses," drawled Blaise. "Bottom line is you couldn't keep your arse off me."

Harry jumped to his feet. "Those Slytherins-!"

"Gave you courage to do what you wanted to do all along! They just gave you a little push!"

Harry's jaw dropped to the floor. "Wha-? What—you-?" he spluttered, beyond disbelief. "That's not true and you know it!"

"Not true, eh?" said Blaise, and he crossed the floor in no time at all and stood imposing in front of Harry, glaring down at him. Ron was on his feet. Harry glared back up at Blaise, his hands balled into ready fists.

Blaise's eyes sank to Harry's nether region. "What's that you got there?" he lilted innocently.

Harry looked down at the bulge in his pants.

"Like what you see, Potter? Having good memories?"

"That's not—it isn't like that!" spluttered Harry. "It's because I'm-!"

"Scared?" suggested Blaise, widening his eyes threateningly at Harry.

"I'm not scared of you," declared Harry confidently, stretching every inch he could out of his meagre height.

"Then it must be something else," declared Blaise.

"It's nothing!" hedged Harry. His voice was shaking with adrenaline, his head swimming most strangely as he stood in Blaise's space, smelling his scent, feeling the epicentre of his presence. He knew what Blaise had said was categorically untrue, yet he couldn't explain why he knew that dropping away from Blaise into his seat would relieve his dizziness.

Blaise swooped down on Harry without warning, and suddenly Harry had Blaise's wide, thin lips on him. Harry struggled, trying to push Blaise off, not quite recovered from his incredulity. Ron had jerked towards them to defend Harry if need be, but as he could painfully see, Harry was in no... immediate danger. Hermione's hand vaguely tried to cling onto Ron for support, for she looked not far from swooning to the floor.

"Merlin, Blaise," murmured Draco, with a frown that was a mixture of exasperation and slight violation.

Harry was making muffled screams into Blaise's mouth as he flailed and kicked under Blaise, whose hands were holding his face in a vice-like grip as he kissed Harry for dear life.

As suddenly as it had happened, Blaise pulled off quickly with a loud and wet popping sound like that of a plunger pulled off a drain, and he resurfaced. Harry fell into his seat and tried to recover his breath as Blaise returned to his seat next to Draco, who was shaking his head at Blaise.

"Was that necessary?" he asked.

Blaise, his lips reddened and gleaming with saliva, hiked his shoulder, shrugging nonchalantly.

Even two minutes later Harry still hadn't stopped hyperventilating, and he was embarrassed for it. But more embarrassing was the very noticeable throbbing tent in his trousers. He made a great show of spitting out Blaise's spit, delivered by his repulsive tongue.

"That was uncalled for!" wheezed Harry pathetically. He brought his arm up and wiped it across his mouth from his armpit right to the tip of his longest finger. "It doesn't change the fact that your prick is _bent_!"

"Harry-" warned Hermione.

"Lefty lefty, ha ha!"

"Fag," Blaise tossed Harry.

And there was another silence. Blaise may as well have insulted Harry's dead mother.

"Says someone who just kissed me!" countered Harry.

"Mates, come on," pleaded Ron and Draco together.

"Do you see a hard-on here?" asked Blaise, raising his eyebrows.

Despite himself, Harry glanced down at Blaise's crotch – he indeed wasn't erect – not even in the slightest. Harry glared at him, unable to deny to himself that he was even a little hurt. "That doesn't change a thing! It's actions that count!"

"Actions indeed," muttered Blaise, glancing at Harry's own crotch, which was still tented even after two minutes.

Draco sighed, "Let's go, Harry."

"I don't wanna go," said Harry sharply. He felt he needed to get the upper hand just one more time on Blaise. "This proves nothing – I don't like you in that way."

"Little Harry there begs to differ," observed Blaise.

"Come on, Harry," said Draco, walking over to him and touching his shoulder. "You don't have to come with me," he said to Ron and Hermione.

Harry growled and kicked at the door as they emerged into the garden. They found the night air outside crisp but bluntly chilly. Harry stared at Draco as they walked.

"I really don't like him like that."

"I know," assured Draco, and he looked aside to smile at Harry.

"What do you mean you know? You can't know. I'm just saying that just because—you know—that happened—I don't—he'll never-"

"I understand, Harry, seriously," reiterated Draco. "You can love me and like him, you know-"

"I don't like him," stated Harry firmly.

"-I used to like him like that-"

"Oh fuck, there we are," said Harry, throwing his arms up, appalled.

"That's what Bode was talking about back in Voldemort's dungeon. We tried something once back in third year-"

"Jesus-"

"-I don't know why. It just happened. You know, just starting puberty, hormones going here and there and left, right, and centre. I promise you I don't like him like that too, though."

"How good to know. So what exactly did you try with him?"

"The whole way. Didn't work out. We didn't like it – it was just too... complicated and sore."

"But didn't you, like—weren't you sleeping with every girl in your house at that time? You said you only did them from behind."

"Yeah, I did, but I was doing the penetrating and not being the penetrated. This time it was much more pleasurable."

"Right," said Harry after a moment, disturbed again in that way that he felt as though the conversation has been defaced by the mere mention of Draco's then heterosexual promiscuity. And now he found out that it was mingled with homosexuality even if it was just one incident.

"I understand you being horny when he was kissing you, is what I am trying to say," said Draco. "It's okay. It doesn't mean anything, even that you like him."

"Which I don't," said Harry firmly again.

"It's just, you know, he's hot – you can't deny it, never mind your prick."

"I-" said Harry cluelessly.

But Draco grinned. "'Lefty lefty'?"

They laughed with each other.

"His one ball is higher than the other, that's why it bends!" whispered Draco knowingly, grinning widely. "He's got lopsided balls!"

They hollered and screeched into night, leaning against each other for support, their eyes shut in mirth.

Draco coaxed them onto the floor, and so they stared up at the stars, which were reflected in their eyes, shining with tears.

Draco breathed out. He took Harry's hand in his.

"Have you even been this close to them?" he said quietly.

Harry took in a breath of blunt, nightly air. "No," he sighed.

They stayed in silence for a while.

"Why did you provoke him?" Draco asked.

"Just," said Harry.

Draco made an amused noise. "You're beginning to scare me, Harry. Are you turning into a little Slytherin?"

"Maybe I am," said Harry. "Can't help it if I hang around one, or two."

"Yeah, that can contribute, I guess," said Draco grinningly.

"I used to talk to snakes too," said Harry in a way that said he knew he was making a groundbreaking statement and was relishing in it, more particularly relishing Draco's silence, which was swiftly broken.

"Hey?"

Harry grinned at the stars. "I used to talk to snakes," he repeated, biting his lips. Yes, how lovely it was he had secrets whose reveals could be spread evenly over the span of their relationship.

"Yeah I got that bit, but I didn't get the bit about you talking to snakes," said Draco derisively.

Harry finally turned to face Draco. He balanced his head on his elbow. "I used to be a Parselmouth until that night I went to your manor and Voldemort killed me, remember, but I woke up again?"

Draco looked at him. "Yes, you dying I remember, and you waking up again..."

"Yeah," said Harry. "I had a piece of Voldemort inside me-"

"Come again?"

"I had a piece of Voldemort inside me-"

"A piece of what?"

"Can I explain please?"

Draco didn't interrupt.

"Before that moment, I had a piece of Voldemort inside me. After we came back from the manor, Dumbledore told me that I lived again when he tried to kill me again because the piece of him inside me he killed it when he cast the Killing Curse on me. The piece came onto me when I was one years old when he tried to first kill me and didn't succeed."

Draco sat up as though listening to Harry's revelation required such preparation.

"Hang on," said Draco, his brow deeply lined. "You had Voldemort's soul inside you?"

"A piece of it. But not anymore. That's why I can't talk to snakes now when I could before that night."

Draco kept quiet, still frowning hard.

"Blimey," he said, after a moment. "All those years – first year to fourth year... you had Voldemort inside you... you could actually talk to snakes...? I'm ashamed of calling myself a Slytherin in front of you. That would've been a neat trick."

"I kinda miss it now and then," said Harry. "Kinda liked talking to them. They don't like to talk for long but... I don't know... they're... smart, I guess, in a way..."

"Cunning," said Draco.

"Obviously, Draco," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

Draco made a dismissive noise at him. He was looking at Harry in a whole different light.

"Harry Potter – a Parselmouth. Who would have thought? I thought Rita Skeeter would've managed to find dirt like this on you. That would have seen her getting her own talk station."

Harry kept quiet for the sake of politeness. If he had to comment on a vile species such as a Rita Skeeter...

Draco perceived his silence for what it was. "Right," said Draco respectfully, and nothing more on it was said. "Well," continued Draco, still staring at Harry as he had never before, as though peals on his eyes were now lifted, "since we're talking about secrets... you wanna see my secret place now?"

Harry jumped off the grass. "Yeah!"

And so they dusted grass blades off each other, stole a final glance from the starry sky, and turned to walk deeper into the garden, unaware that in the house behind them, in a brown leather diary, in a partial entry entitled 'Untolds Unfolded', the origin of Draco's name, so inherently connected to the stars at which they had been glancing, was revealed.

Harry felt as though they had been walking for ages. He kept glancing aside at Draco to seek an indication that he was going to stop, or a look of recognition or action, but none of these came until Harry was sure they were going to enter the foreboding forest that was slowly laying itself in front of them from the horizon.

"Why so far?" asked Harry, rubbing at his arms in the now cold air. He looked behind his shoulder and was not surprised at all at how far the house appeared. The lights from the windows looked like twinkling stars. He raised his lit wand higher in front of him.

"Don't fret, we're here," replied Draco. He approached a tree which was broken and had a collapsed canopy acting as a curtain. They walked around it, and what looked like a large stone well emerged. Draco bent over it and directed the light from his wand into it. Only stones and more darkness were revealed, and the well's rope and bucket were nowhere to be seen, let alone any water.

"Oh you're shitting me," said Harry. "We're not going in there, are we?"

"Yes we are," replied Draco tartly. "Come on, Gryffindor. Strut your stuff."

"I don't strut," said Harry, as he watched Draco heaving himself onto the wall of the well and swinging a leg over. "Draco, come on. You've been down there?"

"Countless times. It's a shorter drop than it looks. Stop being such a scary Kneazle. I did this when I was a little tyke; where's your pride?"

And Draco disappeared before Harry could open his mouth.

"Draco!" hissed Harry, bending over into the well to see Draco skidding into the stones and dust obscuring him almost completely.

"Ouch," came the echoing words.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. Jump down."

"The things I do for you..." Harry climbed up, swung a long over, putted his bum forward, and fell down. The dust rose again as he felt pain in his feet through his trainers because of the rocks. Draco moved a little to the side into a round crevice that a person of their size could hardly fit through. Draco kicked at the rocks there, which crumbled and left the hole a little bigger. He squeezed carefully through it, eventually having to crawl through. Shaking his head, and after squinting upwards at the far-seeming sky, Harry followed.

The way opened into a low-ceilinged, small, cavernous niche. Astonished, Harry took in a narrow bare sponge mattress lying next to the wall of rocks topped by a big, soft-looking continental pillow. The sight of the wall next to the mattress was relieved by a blanket with a familiar grey fat dragon spitting yellow fire. Another fluffy blanket served as a carpet between the bed and where Harry was standing near the entrance, and several more lay on top of the bed. There was a small trunk at the foot of the bed and on top of which lay a contraption quite like the one back in the house, but much smaller. And next to the head of the bed there was a tomato crate pushed upright against the wall to function as a shelf stand or more laughably a room divider of sorts. There were many cobwebs hanging across the corners of the room and the 'furniture', not to mention the thick dust.

"Comfy, eh?" said Draco. Harry was surprised to realize he was standing upright, but his head was flirting dangerously with the low-hanging bulb that looked like it belonged underground in a mine. Perhaps Massice hadn't been the only kleptomaniac in Slytherin.

"Charming," deadpanned Harry, looking around. On second thought, it was rather impressive to think Draco had created such a space when he was just...

"I called it Draco's Den," Draco told Harry. "Father knew nothing of it."

"How old were you when you did all this?"

"Six upwards," answered Draco, as he lowered himself towards the single sponge mattress. "_Scourgify_." He barely bounced as he landed on it. "Don't ask how I found this well, or this little cave here." He beckoned for Harry to come, which Harry did and, cautious of his bum, lowered himself carefully onto the sponge to find it indeed hard yet with some little bounce to it. It was just hard enough that he couldn't feel the rocks underneath, but soft just enough that it wouldn't be much uncomfortable if he were to sleep on it; Harry's opinion of the lair rose again.

He looked around. His chest had contracted slightly.

Draco was also looking around, a fond expression and one of happy reunion on his face. He reached over Harry for the small trunk at the foot of the bed. He laid the blanket and wireless on the mattress and brought the tattered brown trunk over, which was the size of a large lawyer's case and which he opened on his lap with a childish little giggle, grinning into its contents. Draco looked up at the 'ceiling'.

"Let's see if this still works..." He pointed his lit wand at the iron-caged bulb. "_Illuminare_."

The yellow light which flooded the cavern did much better than their Lumos Charms. Unlike Lumos Charms, whose lights were dazzling white and narrow, the light from the lamp softly and dimly seduced itself onto the surfaces of the cavern, somehow even making the rocks look far from abrasive but rather homely. Yet again Harry's opinion of the lair rose until he almost couldn't find anything wrong with it, which should have been ridiculous. The weight on his chest grew.

Fighting it, he stared at the lamp above. It was only then that he realized that the bulb seemed way advanced for the magical world, since it was still using torches.

Draco was quiet as he rifled through his trunk. Harry looked down to see him hastily turning some parchments away from his eyes at one corner, but not before Harry saw more pictures of family drawings.

"How often did you come down here?" asked Harry, peering into the trunk, which had countless toys, parchments, books, and bits of other things about which Harry hadn't a clue.

"Every time we vacationed here to the villa," answered Draco.

"Which was?"

"About every year before Hogwarts."

"Why did you stop coming after Hogwarts?"

Draco shrugged. "Don't know. Things changed. I grew up, I guess."

"Yeah that sometimes happens."

Draco looked aside swiftly at Harry but resumed searching his trunk. He grabbed the biggest and thinnest book in the trunk, a deep-emerald book with golden accents and a golden title, _Eleven Extraordinary Events of the Era: The Children Series_, and which had a parchment stuck between its pages almost right at the back. As with just about any of Draco's possessions, the book looked special – or rather exclusive – and expensive. Draco opened it to where the parchment was stuck, where Harry found, with a jolting leap of his stomach, that the whole page on the left was dedicated to an extremely accurate medium close-up colour photograph of him grinning.

Harry frowned as he stared deeper into the photograph, inching closer to Draco. He was so shocked to find this picture – more than the fact that it was in colour – that he didn't notice the equally shocked expression on Draco's face as he stared at the parchment in his hands. A look of horror replacing the shock, the parchment blurred as Draco put it out of sight with the speed of a white fox.

"That's me!" said Harry.

"Clearly," said Draco, swiftly making himself interested in what Harry was pointing at while he hid the parchment behind his back. But what he couldn't hide was the pink of his flaming cheeks.

"But—but—didn't you say you only came here before Hogwarts?" asked Harry, gaping.

"Yeah, that's right," agreed Draco.

"So how can this book-?" Harry picked the book up and turned it over. He flipped over – taking much care to bookmark the page of his picture – to the opening pages of the book and scanned them. "-But here it says the book was published in 1879!"

"I can see that," said Draco calmly.

"So how can the book know I exist if it was published-?" Harry stopped. He reminded himself he was in a magical world where anything was possible – a statement far truer than in the Muggle world. "This book," he said slowly, looking down at it, "updates itself automatically."

"Too right you are, Harry," replied Draco, smiling.

Harry tried to flip through the book briefly but couldn't hold himself from going back to the page of his picture. He ran his finger across it. It was exactly him as he looked at fifteen years and three months of age, except for...

"My eyebrows aren't that bushy!" he complained.

"When have you last consulted a mirror?" asked Draco.

"This morning and they weren't like this!" said Harry stubbornly. He looked aside and saw the crooked angle of Draco's shoulder, and then saw that Draco's arm was behind his back. "What is that?" he asked.

"What's what?" Draco asked back, blinking innocently.

"That behind your back."

"Nothing's behind my back." Harry blinked innocently himself before he lunged – "Harry!" – and they tumbled on the sponge for a while, the trunk crashing to the blanket-carpet on the floor, until Draco finally let go of the parchment when it looked in danger of tearing apart between their hands; evidently, Draco didn't want Harry seeing what was on it no more than he wanted it destroyed.

Harry backed away, straightened the parchment, and studied it.

He blushed.

He glanced back up at Draco and felt the heat in his cheeks quadruple. He looked back at the parchment.

"Whe—when did you write this?" he asked.

Draco was fighting very hard against his shy grin. "When I was eight," he replied, picking at the sponge mattress coyly.

As he glanced down the parchment, Harry was hard-pressed to contain his own shy grin as well.

"Draco!" he laughed as he threw his head back. It was just too cute. "This is...!"

"Just leave it!" giggled Draco, as he went for the parchment, but it was half-hearted, and Harry turned away defensively so that Draco was now reading the letter over Harry's shoulder.

* * *

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_Hello there! My name is Draco Malfoy, and I'm eight years old probably like you. Yes, you're reading this letter properly. You might have heard about my family – we're really, really rich and Father knows just about everybody in the government. Oh sorry, I shouldn't be talking about my family when you don't have a dad and a mum anymore. You probably have a lot of fan mail to get through so I'll just get to it quickly._

_I am writing to you to tell you that I would like for you to be my friend when we finally get to go to Hogwarts! I just can't wait for it! But I have to, for three years! Can you believe that! You are coming to Hogwarts, aren't you? Don't go to that stupid Bebexton or whatever school it is – it's full of yucky girls and boys who aren't really boys and have floppy wrists and talk like they're bored but they aren't! And Dumstrung, Mother says it teaches evil stuff! She doesn't like it! Father doesn't talk a lot about it! So I don't like it too! _

_So before we can be friends we have to talk about what we like and stuff. What kind of games do you have? I have a lot of a lot of a lot of games! I've got Gambole, Pimping Pirates, Snitch, Wagic, and many many more! You'll meet my other friend Blaise. He's cool! I tease him a lot that he looks like a Chinaman, ha ha! There's also Goyle! He's big and dumb. His parents say his talents are just quiet and waiting for the right time to come out. What a load of toad shit, right? Ha ha. Oops! Father won't find out I sweared but. Ha Ha. This letter will be long gone! Don't want my butt kissing that cane of his again! _

_So what house do you think you will be in at Hogwarts? I know where I will go – Slytherin! My whole family has been in Slytherins right back there in – I don't know – the Middle Ages or something or even before they invented Hogwarts. You must hope you will be in Slytherin with me so we can do bad stuff on the other kids together! Ha ha. Oh and we can't forget Quidditch! You play Quidditch? What team do are you a fan of? Mother likes the Kestrels, but Father doesn't like making stupid bets, but Father also says I'm the best Seeker he's ever seen. Maybe I could send you a picture of my Wronski Feint!_

_Anyway, __I thought about you after__ Father gave me 'the talk' and he told me about the Dark Lord and how it was right that he was supposed to kill your parents so that, you know, our kind doesn't get killed by the Muggles and the other riffraff like Squibs and half-bloods. I don't know. I didn't get a lot of the stuff he was talking about. But I just want to tell you that I don't think it is right that the Dark Lord killed your parents – that wasn't right, see? _

_Anyway, I hope you are doing okay and that you will think seriously about being my friend at Hogwarts in three years' time. You would be stupid if you didn't want to be my friend. I have a lot of stuff that you would like. I know you also must have lots of stuff being a hero and signing autographs and being in books and stuff but you'll see. We're very rich, and we're very connected. Okay, I have to go now, I have other things to do other than writing stupid letters __that probably won't get read__. Send me back a letter before two weeks – my friendship is open for just two weeks._

_Oh and please don't feed Dragonfly anything like those awful Owl Treats – he has a very sensitive stomach. Give him caviar or as a last resort sushi. I don't know where you live (and nobody else does to, it looks like, even all the books __I've read__ about you) so Dragonfly might be tired when he gets to you. _

_Hoping to hear from you soon and see you at Hogwarts._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_

* * *

"Draco!" laughed Harry again in ecstasy. Draco was on his back on the mattress, laughing his lungs out. "Why didn't you send it?"

"Duh!" Draco managed to squeeze out through his fit of laughter. "Nobody knew where you lived! 'Not even all the books I read about you'!" Harry threw his head back. "They just said somewhere in Godric's Hollow! I chickened out, but."

"Godric's what?" giggled Harry.

Draco nodded. "Godric's Hollow – the legend says that's where the Potters lived."

Harry's mirth faded slightly at this small yet huge and unexpected revelation about his past. He forced through a few more giggles and stared down at the letter, written in a handsome cursive penmanship very impressive for an eight-year-old. Even has he giggled, he could feel himself latching onto the name of his place of birth like a drowning man would at a raft. Godric's Hollow. It sounded so right, felt so inexplicably right... He forced himself to concentrate on the letter, and his smile returned.

Unlike the constant tone of someone very spoilt, the letter's pomposity varied: it was robust at the beginning, dipped in the middle as though Draco just let go and let his true nature shine through the pretence, and returned towards the end as though Draco was recovering himself, wishing to send a message to Harry Potter that he didn't need his friendship and he was just offering.

However, the struck-out words were enormously telling. Harry grinned. Of course the eight-year-old Draco wouldn't want Harry Potter knowing he had thought about him for whatever reason, nor that he doubted Harry would get to read his letter in his huge mountain of 'fan mail' and not regard a letter from Draco Malfoy above all others, and nor that Draco flatteringly read and had read a lot of books on him as though he were one more frivolous, fawning, faceless fan of his.

Harry looked up and grinned at Draco – he couldn't help it. Draco grinned back at him.

Something told Harry Lucius wouldn't have been too pleased to discover this letter.

"Merlin, why did I let myself write that?" said Draco, slapping his forehead and rolling his eyes at himself. Harry jumped on him and kissed him. Perhaps it was Harry's blunt affection that was so unrefined, so unsophisticated, so unmeasured, that the simplicity Draco was unprepared for had him, even after last night's promise to Harry, giving himself entirely over to him.

That night they made love for the first time.

"I'm not doing that, no way!" screeched Harry.

"I rimmed you, it's your turn!" hissed Draco accusingly, scandalized.

"That's different!" countered Harry incredulously. "I needed it with that sick potion inside me! Besides, you buggered me, so whatchu you talking about!"

"Oh come on, that was ages ago!" bleated Draco.

"Ages ago?" said Harry, more incredulous. "You mean ages like a month ago?"

"Come on, Harry, please. I haven't had it in a while. I'll do it to you too. You do me, I do you."

"No, Draco, sucking someone off is not natural!"

"Two boys together isn't natural."

Harry was silenced for several heartbeats.

"I know that, but—it's different-"

"How so?"

"Because we love each other and that makes it okay," replied Harry slightly hesitantly.

"Really? That simple?"

"Yeah. Love knows no age or gender or boundary or something like that."

"So then what is wrong with sucking each other off? It's us showing how much we love each other."

"I'm not having a prick in my mouth, Draco!"

"Come on, Harry... I love you..."

"Pfft. As if that'll convince me. Draco, it's just... gross!"

"Oh my prick is gross now?"

"...No! But a prick by itself and the balls – it's just not a lovely thing to look at, okay? And tasting it... I don't know... I don't want to do it and I don't expect you to."

"But I want to do it. I love every part of you."

"Gees, Draco...!" moaned Harry in anguish. Draco really had great powers of persuasion.

"Fine, you don't have to suck me – I'll just suck you, how about that?"

"I can't expect you to."

"I want to do it!"

"I don't want you to! Hey! Draco, what are you doing?"

"Trying to give you a blowjob!"

And they were wrestling again, Draco trying to pull Harry's pants down.

"But I don't want a blowjob!"

"You're just saying that now. You won't believe it when you get it."

They seemed to be merely tumbling again on the bed, but after a while, Harry became breathless, and it was not because he was losing energy. Evidently, Draco knew Harry's weakness – his inexperience at sex. He was rubbing his crotch ceaselessly in their tangle of limbs as Harry's cheeks grew redder and his breaths became longer and deeper. His victim virtually incapacitated, Draco immediately desisted and yanked down Harry's trousers. Harry couldn't resist. He tried to push Draco's head away, which was somewhere down there, but his efforts were lethargic and futile. Draco looked past Harry's erect penis at the underside of Harry's chin, stalking, waiting for Harry to look at him.

Harry panted for a while longer until he regained enough of himself to look down at Draco looking back, his penis right between Draco's eyes, in front of his nose, splitting his sultry smirk in two. It was the sexiest thing he had ever seen.

"Tell me to, Harry."

Green eyes misted over, blinded, Harry stared past his penis at Draco, unthinking.

"Tell me to. Say it."

Harry stared, his lips parted, his heart racing. Draco was bending between his thighs, hovering just over his groin, the sexy outlines of Draco's bum cheeks visible over Draco's shoulders like a curvaceous horizon.

It would be so easy to say...

"Tell me," demanded Draco for the third time.

And Harry stared some more.

Draco opened his mouth and hung it just over the head of Harry's penis. Harry's mouth made an O-shape of its own.

"Let me do it to you," Harry suggested finally.

Draco wasn't quite shocked; in fact, he grinned victoriously.

"Be my guest."

Rather, Harry didn't feel played – his emotions and hormones were going haywire anyway. The remnants of his breathless daze had blunted his usual, calculating awareness; if there was ever a time he could forgive easily, it was then.

Yet, he was still incredulous of what he was about to do. In itself, Draco crawling up to level with him, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, and lying there naked save for his shirt, passed by in a timeless daze. Draco's throbbing member beckoned like a loud siren.

And now, the smirk was gone from Draco's face, and in its place was a less confident and more hopeful, even nervous expression; Harry felt a kind of power by it.

Slowly, and yet strangely unselfconsciously, Harry dropped down the mattress to level his head with Draco's middle, and there he was staring at it. Harry took in the pale, luxurious expanse of Draco's thighs until he reached his feet. Harry reached down and pulled off the socks, exposing Draco's long, thin feet. Harry watched the smooth skin glide aside as he looked across Draco's leg and stopped back at his crotch. Harry licked his lips nervously and was embarrassed to think what licking his lips possibly meant to Draco – perhaps that he was hungry for his penis and found it mouth-watering or something.

One arm balancing him so he could see Harry, Draco's hand came up to run through Harry's shock of raven hair as Harry mounted on Draco, staring at the circumcised penis, at the hole in the head. Harry brought a hand up and touched Draco's penis for the first time. It felt strange. It felt as though he were holding a ghost limb of his own. It felt warm. It felt unbelievably strong, as though it were capable of work. It felt alive – it throbbed with it, with life of its own; he felt as though he were holding Draco's essence in his hand, all that he was right in his hand, but that surely wasn't right, for Draco surely must be more than his manhood, it surely must just be a mere extension of him... right? Harry couldn't quite grasp or explain it, but he felt as though he had connected to Draco in a much more profound way than physically, yet that wasn't really... that should really be shallow...

He ran his hand slowly down the shaft and felt it lurch and then heard a soft sigh from above. Draco's head suddenly dropped onto the bed like deadweight just before a drop of precum oozed out of his hole. Draco pulled the pillow under his head to support himself so he could see Harry. It appeared Draco had underestimated what Harry's touch could do to him.

Draco bit his lip, thinking of the perfection and the power of innocence, thinking of how Harry merely gazing and slowly rubbing his penis could do to him, he who had had this done to him countless times, he who would used not to flinch as some stupid girl blew him off but come with a sedate sigh, yet here Harry was, slowing working off thread after thread of his self-control, and Harry hadn't even done anything yet. Harry's head tilted to the side as he gazed at Draco's penis. Draco sighed again with something of a wince, transfixed by Harry's innocently curious face.

After wiping the precum away with a grimace, Harry went forward, licked his lips, stuck his tongue out hesitantly, seemed to think better of it, his nostrils widened slightly as he took in its scent, he put his lips around a small bit of it in a sort of kiss, and then touched his tongue on it experimentally as though it were something he hadn't tasted before and wanted just a sample, not the whole thing. Harry's eyes flicked up to Draco but flicked back to his penis.

Harry took in just a little more of the head, seemingly nibbling, running his tongue on more of the area until his lips went over the pee-hole – a milestone – tasting the salty semen, which made his face twitch, and finally, gloriously, his lips swallowed the entire head, and it felt like heaven on earth for Draco.

Harry seemed to want to lubricate the head as much as possible before going any further, for he spent quite some time there, and got used the feel of Draco in his mouth. Harry took in a bit, and a bit more, and bit more, until he had almost half of it inside the velvety warmth of his mouth.

"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin..." rapped Draco, pulling Harry off him half-heartedly. He murmured these words in that calm voice usually employed when one was actually panicking.

Swallowing a further inch was a dare, and yet with each inch Harry gained a power with Draco's unravelling resolve; he felt powerful that he could make Draco react like this, like a virgin effectively. He took in more and more, the penis disappearing under his nose until-Harry gagged and nearly vomited. He pulled it out completely, a cord of saliva hanging between it and his lips. Draco was leaking liberally now. His toes were scrunched up and he wasn't looking down at him anymore but had his arm over his eyes, his cheeks flushed.

Emboldened by this, and neatly folded up inside Draco's legs, Harry looked at the shaft, gleaming with his own spit, and painstakingly slowly swallowed it up again, reaching almost all the way to Draco's slightly blonder pubes. He bobbed back and forth gingerly, momentarily handling it as though it were a precious something.

"Just watch your teeth," whispered Draco, eyes screwed against his forearm.

Harry adjusted himself and made his lips more cone-like.

Draco braved a glimpse of Harry. Even more torturous for him, in his modesty with his bite-size sucking, Harry was actually discreetly swallowing every few seconds so he could minimize the messiness of the operation. Just the thought of his cum down Harry's throat, the thought of Harry cutely trying to keep things tidy was almost all he could handle...

But Harry's efforts were futile – it did become messy, because Harry was inexperienced at sucking. Soon Harry was sucking off just a portion of it, he was pulling completely off and his handing was coming up and his fingers got entangled in the mixture of saliva and semen. It was clearly getting out of control.

"Harry, I'm good, I'm good, you don't have you..."

Harry didn't listen. Harry shook his head against him and against the pungent smell of his semen. Determinedly as only Harry could get, he slid his lips over it again and took down inch after inch after inch until he was just shy of that thatch of pubes again, and he sucked, and he bobbed, but then Harry pulled off again, a very thick, bubbly rope of semen and spit hanging from it to his mouth. He rubbed his lips together almost curiously. He didn't cut the rope, and didn't mind it, but swallowed Draco back again, but he gave a great shiver, closing his eyes, grimaced, pulled off again, and opened and closed his mouth like Nagini rearranging her jaw such that Draco could see a curtain or film of semen and spit spanning from the roof of Harry's mouth to his tongue. Harry shuddered, coughed, and redeployed his mouth, and he was bobbing and he was sucking, and he was sliding, until he glanced up at Draco and that was it for Draco. K. O.

"Oh fuck, you beautiful fuck! Fuck, Harry, fuck...! Ah-huh!" cried Draco inarticulately.

The moment Harry was looking down at Draco's crotch while Draco was covering his eyes with his forearm, the air seemed to thicken and blur, and for hardly the space of a heartbeat, a flash of smoke rose out from Draco's chest and blitzed like lightning through the entrance and out.

With a polite grimace, Harry smacked his lips again, stared at his wet fingers, spit out the semen/spit into his hand, wiped his lips with the back of it, and looked back up at Draco. Draco was really crying.

"Draco," Harry said.

"Fuck off!" panted Draco, sniffing, his abdomen heaving and falling like a fluttering dress.

Harry stared at him. Did he do something wrong?

"Draco, what's wrong?" he asked softly.

"I said fuck off!" said Draco in a new, weird voice as though his voice had broken all over again, or maybe not all over _again_...

Harry didn't understand why Draco was acting as he was. He crawled over Draco towards his face.

"Hey, what did I do?"

"Nothing!" said Draco.

"So why're you crying?"

"I'm not crying." Draco started wiping his tears, breathing heavily all the while. He glanced down at the mess he had created, reached out for his wand, and cleaned the mess up. "Let me do your hands," he sniffed, whereupon Harry presented his glistening hands and the mess was dealt with.

"Draco, talk to me."

Draco apparently couldn't resist and glanced up at Harry's face. He lowered his head back onto the pillow and took in deep breaths, staring up at Harry. Draco shook his head.

"I don't know what it is about you, Harry... You just... you just..." Draco had no words for it, no words to describe the immense power Harry possessed. Harry even wielded power in his mere innocence. It was beautiful, vast, and incomprehensible.

"I just what?" said Harry, frowning.

Draco shook his head and took Harry's face with his hand. "You're too beautiful."

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head as though Draco had levelled an insult of the highest degree at him.

"You're starting that thing all over again, eh? Didn't we agree you call me handsome and I you pretty?"

"Oh yeah," said Draco, knowing he was on an entirely different wavelength with Harry.

An emotion, different as he had never felt before, was budding in Draco's heart. It was barely containable. It was just about to burst his chest open. It was a feeling that was compelling him to do anything to please this god-like figure leaning over him, anything to make him happy, to try to scramble and equal himself to its enormity even by just trying.

"My turn," growled Draco. He grabbed Harry, spun him onto the bed, and straddled him. He took off his shirt and tossed it aside, Harry's was next to go, together with his belt, pants, and socks. Draco grabbed his wand, pointed it at Harry's prick, and muttered, "_Lube Me Up._"

"Oh," lilted Harry, in sudden understanding. _Oh my god._

Draco quirked his eyebrows mischievously at Harry. "_Lube Me Up_," he muttered again at his fingers, which shone like melting earwax, before he came up and leaned over Harry. His one hand rested on the side of Harry's head while his other hand was busy in the back.

Heart thundering, Harry watched Draco's face of concentration and the momentary and bashful lowering of his eyes to his stomach. Harry heard Draco's sudden sighs like sounds ones makes when one pushes down the stool down one's rectum. They sounded exceedingly cute to Harry. But he remained as frozen as before under Draco, who continued working his anus for quite some time. Harry's erection never wavered. Eventually, the left arm beside Harry's head gave in and so Draco was doing his thing with his face inches from Harry's, which only increased the intimacy. Draco changed hands.

"Let me do it for you," suggested Harry. "You're tired."

Draco smiled. "Don't you get that this is all for you?" He pecked him on the lips, savouring the sting in his biceps, knowing that the pain was all for Harry. Finally, he was giving himself completely over to him.

"I'm ready," breathed Draco after a while.

And Harry's pulse surged again swiftly.

Draco rose, positioned his middle properly, took Harry's penis in his hand, and aligned it to his puckered hole.

"Oh fuck," said Harry prematurely, as though anticipating a needle of a drip going up a vein in his hand. He was looking down there with one eye and the other hiding away.

Draco sank lower onto his penis, and the head of it went past the ring of muscle.

_Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god..._

Draco sank lower.

_Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, _"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god..."

Draco went lower, engulfing the shaft, until he felt Harry's pubes. He then let his muscles go and merely sat on Harry. He was surprised Harry hadn't exploded yet.

Harry had his hands over his eyes and his feet had crossed each other.

Biting his lip, Draco pulled up and then slid down luxuriously slowly, swallowing Harry's penis back into him.

In unimaginable pleasure, Harry groaned and tried to push Draco away, but Draco converted the push away into a thrust that rippled down his torso and banged him into Harry. And he was riding Harry to Merlin's moat.

Harry tried to bring his head up and look down at what was happening, but it kept falling back to the pillow and his eyes kept returning to the back of his head.

Draco put his hands on either sides of Harry and bounced up and down. The cavern now smelled strongly of sex.

It took all the strength Harry had to lift his head again and look at Draco with a frown furrowing his brow, a crease on his nose, and something of a snarl on his lips as though what Draco was doing to him was causing him unendurable pain instead of unendurable pleasure. And he just knew that his heaven wasn't going to last.

Draco looked to be concentrating on the motions, admiring every turn and twitch of Harry's face.

Draco's back was arched down on Harry to deliver another smooth slide and grind him into Harry's groin. It made him look like a graceful leopard on a prowl, and Harry had his hands lightly holding onto this torso. Harry didn't know how to grasp the perfection of the moment but only to let the moment sweep him away...

It was a feeling that was there right from the beginning. It grew stronger and stronger. Harry felt as though something was pulling him upwards, wrenching something from him… He could see the surface from far away, but he was getting there... as his torso arched into Draco's, the pulling force lifted him from the bed and bent him and twisted him and broke him... and just before he reached the surface, he felt his essence break like lightning breaks air and he was on the other side, and there suddenly there came a hot burning pain in his calves and thighs as they cramped...

He felt the pulling force release him at once, and his body clattered down onto the bed, his arms dropped from Draco's torso to the pillows on his sides, lifeless.

Draco, in awe, stared down at Harry's body, stared at the sweat-gleaming abs and thighs twitching so violently that they seemed to be vibrating. The sight was bittersweet, shameful, and satisfying at once. It was as though he was a bird of prey cracking open an egg and the rich yolk burst out which he devours. He had spilt that innocence from its safe reservoir, forever lost... Harry was meant to experience this in adulthood, not as a teenager; his wife was supposed to have been the one to accomplish this, to make him feel this way, break the yolk, not his teenage boyfriend. Seeming to have realized something saddening, a spasm of guilt flitted across Draco's face.

"Draco," panted Harry, in a world of his own, but he didn't want the embarrassing words he was thinking to leave his lips… _That was… that was… amazing!_

Giggling and grinning at the ceiling, Harry's arms were sprawled on the pillows on either side of his head as though in crucifixion.

'_This is life!_' thought Harry, '_My life with Draco!'_

When Draco bent down and captured his lips, kissing him, Harry just let go and allowed himself to be swallowed up by Draco entirely and in every sense, unbeknownst to him that the kiss was something of an apology, an apology for spilling him so prematurely and so immorally, even if Harry said it was all right because they loved each other... It was an unceasing battle inside Draco – absolute validation. It was a ceaseless war inside Draco – to finally feel that he was unquestionably worthy of Harry's love.

His chest rising and falling into Draco's as he lay on him, Harry recovered his breath, that stupid grin still plastered on his face. He could feel his own semen dripping from his penis and Draco's anus onto his thighs. A part of him had been inside Draco and was leaking out...

Harry ran his hands down Draco's back. He even braved running his through Draco's crack, feeling the warm semen bathing the rosebud there, which he knew was pure, because the stained one was lying down at the rocks on the shore, the one on the body that had been possessed by Voldemort, but now, reborn, Draco was finally his.

"I love you, Draco."

"I love you too, Harry."

They held each other like this for some time to follow until they got cold and put their clothes back on.

"This—this place," Harry began to confess, as he refused to confess that he was claustrophobic, which would explain the pressure in his chest earlier, "it reminded me of my... of the cupboard under the stairs I used to sleep in."

Draco stared at Harry, uncomprehending. "Hey?"

"There's a cupboard under the stairs at my relatives' house I used to live in. This place reminded me of it."

"A cupboard under the stairs?" said Draco.

Harry nodded. "Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia weren't the greatest of relatives. I live in a Muggle suburb in the summer. I don't and never had fan mail. I knew nothing about the Wizarding world until Hagrid fetched me on my birthday."

With each statement, Draco's eyes widened further, as they were revelations to him.

"A Muggle suburb?" whispered Draco, as though the disgrace this fact bore was too gross to utter any louder.

Harry nodded.

"And you had to return there every summer?"

Harry nodded.

"You never knew there was a Wizarding world..." Harry nodded once more. "...when you were...?"

"Eleven," finished Harry matter-of-factly.

"And you lived in a-?"

"Cupboard under the stairs," finished Harry, "for ten years."

Draco's jaw dropped lower. He picked it up to say, "Those monsters of your relatives... I didn't know Muggles were so-"

"It's not all of them," assured Harry. "It's just my relatives. They never liked me from the get go. There're probably worse people out there."

Harry felt as though a piece of zinc imbedded deep inside him had been cut out. He had shared his darkest, deepest secret with his lover. He hadn't even shared it with Ron and Hermione...

"But how can they not like y-?" Draco stopped himself before he could finish, blushing, his eyes darting exactly to where Harry's own were, the undelivered letter. Harry grinned that childish grin again.

"They never liked that I was a wizard."

"Bu—but that's preposterous!"

"You tell me. Come on. Shouldn't we be practicing your smoky thing?"

Draco fought for five seconds to quell his great disbelief and indignation to make way for irritation of equal proportions.

"It's not a 'smoky thing!'"

"Sorry," said Harry clearly insincerely. They stood up to head for the hole. But Harry first stared at the mattress and then ducked down to smell it. The lingering smell of the semen filled his nostrils. It wasn't a pleasant smell, yet he couldn't quite get over it. It was almost as though he were daring himself to take one more whiff, and then just one more...

"Er, Harry?" said Draco, in a tone that suggested he thought he was seeing the first signs of dementia from him.

"Yeah," said Harry, and he took in one more sniff of the semen – whoever it belonged to, and the mystery of which only added to its weird appeal – before straightening up and heading to the hole. They crawled through it into the well.

"Er, a Levitation Charm?" asked Harry, whose fascination of the smell of semen was now worrying him.

"I would have used these bricks here see," said Draco, pointing at the wall of the well where every alternate prick upwards jutted out. "I obviously couldn't cast a complicated charm like that when I was that young. But I guess it has its merits now. I on you and you on me."

"Right," said Harry, and he pointed at Draco. "_Wingardium Leviosa_."

"_Wingardium Leviosa_... Bloody hell you're heavy."

"You're not featherweight yourself; I feel like my wand's gonna snap in two."

They emerged back into the starry, chilly night and made their way – Draco limping a little – in animated conversation and giggles and fleeting touches across the gap between the forest behind them and the beginning of the garden in front.

All Harry could say about what happened back there in that well was _Wow... _It had been beautiful. In addition they had taken something that had resembled and brought back to Harry's mind his cupboard under the stairs and turned it into something positive and forceful. Its homey feel was also not to be forgotten.

They traversed the garden, past the Pond of Prosperity, and halted between it and the house.

"Okay," said Draco bracingly, rubbing his hands, trying to psyche himself up for the moment or perhaps simply to keep the cold at bay.

"So how did you come about being smoky again?" asked Harry, and then amended swiftly upon Draco's glare, "I mean, er, losing substance and turning into mist?"

"Mist," scoffed Draco severely, as though it were a little if at all better than 'smoky'. "I don't know, I just did it, it felt right at that time. It was just after I died. I don't suppose I should die again. Could we risk that?"

"That's not funny," said Harry humourlessly. "Just, er, try to imagine yourself become smokey—sorry, misty."

"It would help if my emotions were in check," said Draco testily, "which is hard to accomplish with people like you around!"

"You mean after what we did back in-"

"Shut up, Harry," mumbled Draco, his words coming out mishappen as they were forced through a shy, wobbly smile.

Harry couldn't contain his grin as well. "It was great!"

Draco looked at him in disbelief that he had just said that. He seemed terrified of confirming or even denying Harry's words.

"IT WAS GREAT!" roared Harry, rocketing at Draco and sweeping him in a deep hug and kiss.

"Har-?" But Harry's name was lost in the kiss, and they were melting in each other's arms, Harry's arms were around Draco's torso, Draco's hands were on Harry's face, directing his head for the kiss. After two minutes they pulled back, Harry wet in his pants, three figures standing in the doorway. Harry and Draco lazily looked at them, breathing deeply, leaning into each other, resting the sides of their heads against each other.

"We did it," said Harry, in a voice that, though breathless and low, cleanly carried over to Blaise, Ron, and Hermione.

After a moment, Ron turned around and strode back in the house. Hermione followed after jumping up and down and throwing her arms in the air – all very silently, before she went back in the house to mollify Ron. Blaise stood there emotionless for several moments after Hermione left, but if Harry's eyes weren't deceiving him, there was then an upward curl to the side of Blaise's lips. Blaise then nodded, and he turned around and headed into the house.

Harry and Draco turned their heads and faced each other closer than at any other time in their relationship, their noses touching as they breathed into each other's faces. They grinned those idiotic-looking – even on Draco – grins on their faces. There were no needs for words, and so they returned to trying to make Draco become an Incubus.

But then Draco said suddenly, "I don't think I'm gonna be able to do it."

"We'll keep trying until we-" began Harry.

"No," said Draco, shaking his head. He grinned. "I mean, I won't be able to do it."

Harry stared at Draco. "But we just have to-"

"I can't do it!" yelled Draco, grinning wider than ever.

"Of course you can!" yelled Harry back, bewildered at Draco's huge grin and disappointed at his lack of faith in himself. "You can do anything you set-!"

"I CAN'T DO IT, HARRY!"

"YES YOU CA-!" But Harry stopped himself. He shook his head.

Draco was nodding forcefully as though encouraging Harry to follow his train of thought.

"You can't do it..." said Harry quietly. "You can't do it... because... you... have discovered... love. You have found the one person you love with your entire being, who consumes you completely, and we have consummated our love – at that point, the immortal spirit will leave you, and you will be free again..."

Harry stared at Draco.

"You've discovered love."

"Your love, Harry."

"You love me with all your being?"

"With all my being, Harry."

"I complete you."

"You complete me, Harry, and I'm free."


	14. Position of Power

**Chapter 14**

**Position of Power**

Harry stared at Draco for some time. He felt a ball grow steadily inside his chest, he felt pressure building up behind his eyes, and he was sure they looked red by now. He tried to grin through the emotion passing through him, but he couldn't face looking into those grey eyes in front of him.

"Come on!" he said excitedly, as he took Draco by the hand and led them towards the garden door.

It was a testament to the faith of their relationship that they walked off back into the house without continuing to try making Draco turn into an Incubus. Faith aside, however, he had a hard time convincing Hermione that Draco couldn't turn into an Incubus even if he tried. Incurable romantic though she was, she wasn't taking the story without proof.

Completely undermining and belittling their experience with the tarnish of pragmatism, Hermione impatiently said, "I'm sure it was very wonderful and very sweet what you two went through, but this is ludicrous! You're being unreasonable! You can't just assume it's not going to happen without trying! You have to go you there and do it!" she shot at Draco.

"No," said Draco, who remained defiant.

"What do you mean 'no'?" shrieked Hermione.

"We're not doing it," replied Draco. "Harry and I have decided-"

"Yours and Harry's decision-making abilities have been clogged up the moment you made goo-goo eyes at each other so you can't think clearly! Harry!" She rounded on said person now. "This is unreasonable, and you know it! You just can't not try it based on this! I never thought you were such a romantic!"

Her tone made it certain it wasn't a compliment.

"Maybe I am," said Harry, a little frightened and a little stubborn, naturally. He linked his hand with Draco's for support.

"Just drop it, Hermione," said Ron, in a tired voice. He crossed his arm, lent back in his seat, and propped a leg over the other. Blaise was sitting in the couch on the opposite side of the table, his arms crossed as well, and his droopy-eyed gaze fixed on the square tiered chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Hermione's hair shivered as it whipped to Ron and then back to Harry and Draco, who were standing between the warm sight of the couches bundled up around the table and the cold sight of the doorway behind them, to where Hermione wanted them heading.

"But you have to see sense here!" she said to them, a little feebly.

"I really don't see why we're still discussing this," drawled Draco dismissively. "Harry and I don't want to it so end of story." With that, Draco brushed past her and dragged Harry onto the couch that Blaise was sitting on, leaving Hermione to stand there with her lips drawn tightly into her mouth and with a devastatingly deep frown on her brow.

However, it turned out Hermione couldn't hold her anger out any longer than a few minutes after, for she then reverted to the state she came into when Harry and Draco entered the sitting room. Practically humming and shivering with jubilation, Hermione threw wide-eyed glances Harry's way as well as fluttery whispers that begged him to divulge the details of what happened back in Draco's Den, which Harry hadn't the intention to reveal existed – once a special place for Draco alone, it was now such for the both of them.

"Oh Harry please tell me!" squealed Hermione for the sixteenth time and the loudest yet. This time, though, it proved a little too loud for Ron to bear.

"For Merlin's knickers, Hermione, could you fuckin' drop it now!" he shouted at her.

Hermione glared at him in confusion, but she looked far from provoking him any further.

"What got your knickers in a bunch, never mind Merlin's?" drawled Blaise, inspecting his nails.

"Nothing's got my knickers in a bunch!" said Ron in a voice so vicious his words were barely intelligible. The skin around his seething lips was drawn and white to contrast spectacularly with his glowingly red face and matching flaming Weasley hair. He gave a shufti at Harry and looked away quickly before he grabbed a book off the table and, for once, actually started reading.

Unconvinced by this, and ready to defend himself and Draco, Harry asked lightly, "Yeah, Ron, you look a little narked. What's up?"

Ron didn't answer but continued flipping pages in the book, unaware which book it was.

Beside Harry, Draco also had his leg crossed onto the other and was inspecting and dusting his clothes unnecessarily as was the habit of Malfoys; he seemed utterly uncaring about what was happening around him.

"Ron!" said Harry.

"What?" shouted Ron, and apparently taking offence to his raised voice, the book leapt of out his hands and attached itself to his face for the second time. Ron jumped and fell back over the couch spectacularly. They all heard as Ron's knees scrambled on the floor before a bush of flaming red hair whipped into sight, and then the book was sailing across the room to land into the wall and drop to the floor. Explosively furious now, Ron shouted, "We don't have to hear about your disgusting sordid affairs!"

"No one said anything about our affairs, let alone us!" Harry shot back heatedly.

Ron turned his glare on Hermione. He pointed a finger at her, looking as menacing as Ron had never looked before, and then he stomped out of the room.

"Well," observed Blaise, after a moment, "that went well."

"You're starting too?" asked Harry aggressively.

Blaise did not reply but made a dignified sound before he checked his nails one more time, sighed, and stood up. "Well I'm off. Night's over. All the excitement seemed to have worn me out." With that, he stretched and swaggered out of the room, Harry staring at him behind his back, watching his long torso swaying left and right, and the long, strong arms with the large, soft hands hanging on their sides. Little Harry sprang to life.

"Damn," whispered Hermione. She appeared as genuinely worried as she had never been before about Ron. She looked at Harry with a sadly apologetic expression. "He'll calm down. He'll get used to it." She packed up the books into neat piles on the table before slipping out of the room.

Harry felt strangely alone left with Draco in the sitting room, the emptiness of which felt very symbolic and ominous for Harry.

"Let's retire," said Draco, as soon as Harry glanced at him helplessly. Draco took him by the hand and led them to the master bedroom to call it a night. Lucius flashed past Harry's mind.

Harry lay in the covers with Draco in his arms, thinking, thinking...

After his falling out with Blaise, it occurred to him that he would just have to get used to incurring insults such as 'fag'. He would just have to get used to carrying a label, no matter how much he wanted to protest to it. It was a step onto the other side, the side of the 'skippy ponces' as per Dudley's words. Newly empathetic, he was one of those kids who were targeted and bullied for the mere fact that they preferred the opposite sex. Harry couldn't decide if he felt it was a drastic change or not; at times it seemed so, at others it seemed something smaller.

Yes, he had to accept it – he preferred boys – this couldn't have been put plainer than by his relationship with Draco. And if he were to defend himself that that was love, that it was something different and something higher than merely an issue about his sexual preferences, one argument would put all potential defences to death: he was physically attracted to Blaise Zabini – there was nothing profound about that attraction – it was simply and shallowly physical, and profoundly homosexual*. He knew for a fact that had Blaise not looked the way he did, he would not be attracted to him; he didn't like Blaise's attitude or his personality – it was simply physical – Blaise was stunning – he was everything Harry was not, and that was the principle element of the reason he found Blaise so... hot. Ah, a new entry into his vocabulary.

With these thoughts running through his mind, Harry weakly held onto Draco as though this would make him feel redeemable. With conviction, he delved back into the little places and niches he oh-so loved about Draco. He locked his body onto his as he spooned him, like key and lock, perfectly aligned to each other, and Harry felt that much calmer. He kissed Draco's neck goodnight.

The next morning they all heard the most shocking thing they have ever heard. They were gathered in the sitting room as usual, the clinks and slurps and chewing of breakfasting children a familiar affair by now for all. The light was just about gathering its strength to penetrate and brighten the room. Blaise was minding no one as usual, looking fittingly more distinguished from them than from Draco, who was sitting next to Harry with one hand clasped in Harry's and the other shuffling between his mouth and his plate. And though the gap between Ron and Hermione as they sat was no wider to those of before, this morning it seemed much, much thicker. Though with a certain stiffness, Ron was in a deep relationship with his breakfast, while Hermione seemed divorced from hers. But Harry was too concerned with relieving his hunger, as seemed the case for everyone else, to notice a tear drop down Hermione's cheek.

"Ron raped me," said Hermione quietly but clearly.

The teacup about to ascend to Blaise's lips wobbled out of his hands and shattered on the floor, and Harry's flapjack decided to change route and go for his windpipe.

After the last of Harry's coughs and chest-stomping and spluttering faded, the room was gripped by a silence as they had never felt before.

Harry stared at Hermione, stared at Ron, and went back to Hermione. He couldn't even bring himself to ask Hermione to repeat herself. Blaise and Draco looked as shocked as he was.

Ron had a peculiar expression on his face as he stared at Hermione: he was staring at her as though he were just as surprised as anybody else was and was thinking at the same time how dare she blurt it out.

When the silence seemed to overbear the mere sitting room, someone spoke up.

"I beg your pardon?" said Draco, frowning at the both of them like an annoyed mother staring down at her mischievous twins. And such was the shock to his systems that he had temporarily dissolved the crass speech gained from hanging around other Slytherins and reverted to the refined one with which he had been brought up.

Hermione sniffed and turned to Ron, her eyes tearful and blazing. "You know it's what you did," she said in a low, fierce voice.

"Rape you?" said Ron, widening his eyes. "What bollocks you on now?"

Hermione appeared even more hurt by Ron's flippancy.

"I didn't want to but you forced yourself on me!"

"Listen to this woman," said Ron, shaking his head, avoiding looking at the opposite couch. "Why would I want to force myself on you? Anybody fancy flying a few?"

Hermione's tray clattered to the floor with all her breakfast as she shot up onto her feet, hair aquiver.

"I don't why I ever thought I knew you! You violated me, Ron, don't you understand that?" wailed Hermione.

Harry really thought all this was a bad dream, let alone a bad drama. Draco was thinking along the same lines as well: he felt Draco tug out his hand from his to pinch his thigh. After this, proving that he was indeed awake, Draco's jaw dropped lower as he stared at the unfolding, blurry scene in front of them. This only worsened the feeling in Harry that the whole morning was a mistake, waking up was a mistake. He was feeling serenely wrong-footed. He woke up peacefully next to Draco for once in a long time, they showered together, they found only Blaise in the sitting room, rifling through a book, they found out that Hermione was in the library when she called out before Harry entered, and Ron was fast asleep still, for he was nowhere to be seen.

There had been nothing blindingly plainly wrong, yet there were little differences embedded in the folds of that short period: Blaise was a new member among them to be seen first in the sitting room, Harry hadn't awoken with Draco next to him in a while, they hadn't fooled around in the showers as they would have normally for some profound reason, and Hermione had notified them that she was in the library before Harry could even set foot in it – therefore he technically hadn't seen her with his eyes... There seemed to be something slightly wrong about the scenes, a little off-centre, and these were quiet mistakes. But this, what Hermione was alleging, there was nothing neither serene nor quiet about it at all...

"Hermione..." said Harry, in a way that suggested he was wondering why Hermione was throwing such a gigantic spanner in the until-now-peaceful works.

Hermione stormed off in gales of misery out of the room. Harry quickly leapt up and followed her, casting an eye at Ron just before loping out of the room.

"Hermione!" Harry called at the figure barrelling through the passage. "Hermione! Just wait a sec! Hermione!"

She disappeared briefly as she entered the library and took an immediate left. Harry sprinted ahead.

The next second he was rebounding off thin air and was sent crashing to the floor. Astonishment overpowering pain, Harry swiftly got back onto his feet and inquiringly threw a hand in the threshold separating the library from the hallway in which he was standing. His hand couldn't go further than what his whole body had attempted to. Bewildered, Harry glanced up ahead at the sign of _Libraria de Malfoy_, behind him as though the rest of the party would appear and offer him a clue, and back at the wall of book spines he could glimpse from in front of the threshold.

"Hermione, let me through!" demanded Harry, who wasn't entirely convinced that what had just happened wasn't Hermione's idea of amusement. He gently nursed his head and several other body parts which had impacted into the air at high speed. "We need to talk!"

"There's nothing to talk about!" came the tearful words from inside the library. "The matter is that simple!"

"Hermione, please!" pleaded Harry, rubbing his elbows now.

"What's happening now?"

Harry turned around to see Draco hanging from behind, arms crossed and a frown troubling his brow.

"I—I really don't think you should be here," said Harry gently, grimacing apologetically at Draco, who, after a moment of trying to maintain appearances, nodded and purled around to strut off, clearly taking offence at what was tantamount to a dismissal from Harry.

Harry's lower lip stretched to one side guiltily in a very Ron-like manner, but he couldn't focus on Draco for now – his best friend needed him.

"Don't worry, he's gone. Hermione, please, we have to talk about what... happened back there... Did—did-" he began in a much lower voice, "-did Ron—but—did you mean he-?"

"He raped me, Harry, what is so complicated about that?" came the shrieking words, echoing chillingly around the library and spilling out towards Harry. "Is your brain that small not to comprehend something like that?"

This was a cheap shot, and one that was uncharacteristic of Hermione, so Harry forgave her.

Just before he opened his mouth to say something that would get him closer to being allowed thoroughfare, Harry's peripheral vision presented him with something; he turned to see flaming red hair traversing the passage. Harry and Ron looked each other in the eye before Ron entered his and Hermione's bedroom and slammed the door shut. Harry turned his back.

"Just—if you could just let me through! Please! What you're saying is serious! I can't imagine Ron—I mean-" Oops. Too late.

"You mean you don't believe me?" demanded Hermione in a rough and aggressive voice, a voice Harry had never heard come from her.

"No, I _do_ believe you, Hermione! It's just! I just want to find out more! Hermione... please... as a friend... Can we please talk about it? I promise I won't do anything stupid."

Several moments passed before there came a loud, moist sniff – quite unlike those pompous sniffs that came from her on so many occasions around books – and the next moment, Hermione's words echoed again around the library; evidently his soft tone and openness had worked.

Nothing visibly changed anywhere.

"You can go through."

Understandably sceptical, as he had been unexpected and shockingly pained, Harry proceeded forward with caution, waving his arm carefully to prove that indeed the invisible barrier was no more. Feeling nothing suspect, Harry crawled over the threshold warily and spotted Hermione on the curvaceous table standing against the books used for one on which to select and browse books. She was curled up into herself, her wild bushy hair engulfed her face and knees, and her arms were wrung around her legs.

Harry swallowed before walking over to her. "Hermione..."

"I don't why he did it!" cried Hermione as though on cue. Her hair flipped backwards to give way to her pinkish, tear-shining face. "It was like—it was like he was trying to – you know – assert his manliness for something..."

As soon as Harry jumped onto the table and sat his bum, Hermione grabbed him and wept into his chest.

"But when did this happen?" said Harry, feeling as though a gale had slapped its way through his head; he hadn't been given enough time to absorb all of this, to begin to believe it, yet Ron's actions were highly indicative; Ron was not usually condescending, though slamming doors wasn't a new satisfaction.

"Oh, Harry!" cried Hermione.

"Shhh..." whispered Harry soothingly, rubbing her back and staring over her hair with difficulty. "Just—just please—can you please tell me what happened exactly?" asked Harry, who was floundering in getting a grip on things.

Hermione sobbed and sniffed for some minutes to follow. After, she spoke quietly.

"Yesterday, after you told us that, you know, you and Draco did it..." Harry blushed. "...Where, though, we all didn't know..." Harry blushed more deeply. "Maybe on the grass or something, but I think it hurt him in some way. He was like, I don't know, trying to punish me for supporting you and Draco or he was trying to prove to himself that he was, you know, not gay but straight or..."

Harry shook his head, frowning at the huge 'M' made by the spines of the books on the other end of the circular library. He simply didn't know what to do or say.

"He just jumped on you?" he asked finally.

Hermione shook her head on his chest and sniffed. "He was—he started out really romantic and all, you know, kissing me here and there-" She sniffed. "-carrying me to the bed and laying me there, being so passionate. I haven't seen him like that before..." Harry shifted uncomfortably, either because the scene she was painting involved his two best friends or because it was a heterosexual one. "...It was really good, you know, foreplay, but as soon as we were stripped, he just turned into an animal!" Hermione lapsed into more sniffling.

"Blimey."

Hermione cried and nodded, trying to stem her tears with her cuffs, but most of them still ended up on Harry's shirt.

"I couldn't fight him, Harry! I couldn't! He just kept going and going and going! It wasn't Ron, I swear it! You couldn't have thought it was him! Like he was Imperiused! Oh, Harry!"

"Shhh..." whispered Harry into Hermione's hair, as Hermione gripped him even more fiercely and as her howling worsened to approach near flood level. "It's okay, it's okay... I'm gonna kill that bastard..."

Hermione dissolved into shriller cries at this.

"Shhh..." Harry really was lost for words. The only thing he could bring himself to do is to continue shushing her and rubbing her back and holding onto her as tightly as she was grabbing onto him. It was simply unfathomable that Ron could rape Hermione, yet here he was, trying to console another rape victim.

A tongue of fire, of sizzling rage, seemed to whip up his insides. How dare Ron rape anybody... after... when he knew someone who had been raped and had at least an inkling of what that did to a person...? Draco hadn't been able to sleep, to eat; he had been barely able to walk that night! Voldemort had raped him, and Ron had raped Hermione. Had Ron no compassion whatsoever? Didn't this make him as heartless as Voldemort was?

All of a sudden for Harry it became a countdown until Hermione calmed down enough so he could go find Ron and rip his neck from his body. In almost the same detached manner as he had done with Draco when he began dissolving at his parents' death, Harry idly murmured soft, shushing, soothing noises, his eyes farseeing, his mind fixed on one Ronald Bilius Weasley.

"Just hold on," said Harry, as he gently began untangling himself from Hermione, who removed herself without much ado and wiped her tears and snot.

"Where're you going?" muttered Hermione shakily, her eyes and nostrils swollen and reddened.

Harry didn't answer. He crossed the floor, and as soon as he exited the library his hand drifted to his waistband. Already in a blind and unstoppable lurch forward, he was just about to whip out his wand and crash into Ron and Hermione's bedroom when there was a sudden tanned-peach breeze whipping about a fresh and spritely scent neither cologne nor perfume and the words, "Hello there, Potter!" and a moment later, Harry realized Blaise Zabini was posing in front of him.

It took Harry a moment to recover from his surprise and to unexpectedly suspend his rage.

"Blaise," said Harry, catching his breath and stealing a glance beyond Blaise at the bedroom door standing there.

"So what's going on?" asked Blaise. However, Harry rather thought Blaise wasn't interested in what was 'going on' with him, judging by Blaise's slightly over-bright eyes and energetic smirk.

"Going on with what?" asked Harry, frowning up at him.

Blaise's eyes flicked to his wand; Harry dropped it.

"Care to share?" asked Blaise spritefully.

"Share what?"

Blaise's folded arms sagged as he adopted an expression that suggested he thought Harry was electively suffering Down syndrome.

"With the aftermath of that whole scene back there!" said Blaise. "Trust me, even I wouldn't have thought Weasley was capable-"

"Well he is now, isn't he?" said Harry coldly.

Blaise kept quiet and studied Harry's face. A brief fluttering smile flitted across his face before Blaise appeared to recover himself as he loosened the arms crossed in front of his chest and dropped his smile.

"My guess is that the ever-so-Golden Trio is going to have to do some spring cleaning this winter..."

Harry didn't know how to respond to this so he merely stared up at Blaise, which he hated, for he was quite aware and quite irked by Blaise's comparatively ample height.

Blaise did not seem to mind standing with Harry in the silence; in fact, he seemed to cherish it as his eyes travelled around bits of Harry's body.

"I need to talk to Ron," rapped Harry, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and beginning to sport a bulge. He tried pushing past Blaise, who, however, side-stepped and blocked his path; Harry glared up at him. "Let me go."

"Can't."

"Just move please."

"Can't," said Blaise more softly, tilting his head to the side in what Harry felt was a teasing and patronizing manner.

A few moments of silence passed between them.

"Just leave me alone. I need to go talk with Ron, move aside, blasted hell." Harry tried getting past Blaise again, but Blaise stood his ground.

"Hang on, I want to show you something."

These particular words were inherently familiar to any Muggle claiming himself current, media-wise. Harry's ears pricked, but he said quickly and angrily, "Well it can wait, can't it?"

"Can't," replied Blaise, shaking his head, looking unbothered and untroubled, and half amused. "Come on." With that, Blaise took Harry by the hand to lead him off, but Harry tried to yank his arm loose.

"Blaise, for bloody sake, I don't want to go anywhere with you! Just leave me al-!"

"Shh, come on, it won't take long," Blaise said in a quiet, scheming voice, dragging a fitful Harry from the corridor all the way to a room Harry had never visited that resembled very much a kitchen.

Overtaken by surprise more than anything, Harry stopped hissing furiously at Blaise and looked around the room he had just been pushed in, which was in fact and undoubtedly a kitchen.

"Yes, Potter, there's no use for it but there you have it. Whoever understands Malfoys I will bow down to." Blaise closed the wooden sliding door, something Harry had never seen for a kitchen. It looked distinctly old-fashioned and whined squeakily as it was shut. The keyhole was ludicrously larger than the ones Harry had seen before, and he repressed a shudder to think of the size of the keys that would fit it. He could easily see the door transformed into an iron-banded one with scorch marks and dried blood on it, and its huge key being among others on an equally huge ring.

"What do you want, Blaise?" asked Harry impatiently. "Make it quick!" How dare Blaise show him an unknown room when he had stayed here much longer than Blaise had.

"Fine. I want a quickie."

"A what?" snapped Harry.

Blaise approached him, took his wand arm, and tried to take his wand. Failing at which, since Harry had a firm grip on it, he resorted to holding the fist around the wand and making it tuck the wand back into Harry's waistband. "I want... a quickie..."

Harry remained glaring up at the infuriating Blaise in front of him.

"Ah no but of course!" trilled Blaise, suddenly alive, amused by something. "You wouldn't know what that would be, would you?"

Hence Harry had kept quiet, and still did.

Without a moment's warning, Harry found himself swept off his feet, and in a fathomless blur Blaise backed him up onto the kitchen counter.

"B-Blaise...!" screeched Harry feebly, unable to escape his disbelief that he had just been manhandled like a blushing bride. This reinforced that unnerving fact once unearthed by Draco when he had pulled Harry towards him by the ankles – the fact that Harry was not invulnerable or inviolable, that control could easily be snatched from him, he could easily be swept off his feet, his bearings, that he was weak, that there were forces outside him bigger and stronger than him in almost every sense, and one of those forces – a mere microcosm – was Blaise's height and strength.

"Fuck off, you arse!" Harry struggled to putt his own arse off the kitchen counter and escape Blaise's grip, and eventually Blaise stood in between his legs, holding his arms, watching him with downcast eyes and a taunting smirk on his face.

"You know what a quickie is?"

"No and I don't care to if it involves anything with you! Now let me go!"

"Kiss me."

"What?" Harry stopped struggling against Blaise.

"Kiss me."

"Blaise-" began Harry, trying to catch his breath as it left him in a rush. "Blaise, for fuck's sake, I got better things to do!" shouted Harry defensively, floundering to recover himself, frowning in a shocked way at Blaise's face mere inches from his own. He resumed struggling with Blaise's limbs.

"What's so wrong with it?"

"What's so wrong with it is that my best friend has just raped my other friend and you're keeping me here in a bloody kitchen! And I'm with Draco!"

Blaise merely tilted his head.

"Funny. You never said you didn't want to."

"I-" stuttered Harry, blushing dazzlingly. "Both my other points are very valid!"

"You want to," stated Blaise quietly.

"No I don't!" scoffed Harry in a shrill voice.

Blaise's smirk inched ever so slightly upwards, matching his escalating amusement.

"Just bloody fuck off, will you!" rapped Harry, as he attempted going through Blaise again, but Blaise held him off once more.

A tanned arm seemed to wound beyond the frame of his vision around him and a hand caught his neck to bring his head forward, and the next thing he was feeling a plump pillow of flesh against his lips. A fuse fizzled out and Harry's brain ground to a complete halt.

The pillow withdrew almost as quickly as it had delved.

It was almost possible to see through the green stained glass of Harry's eyes at the little cogwheels that had given in and slouched. Harry, or a still imitation of him, merely gazed back unseeingly at Blaise.

Blaise looked down at Harry's lips, which were still open in still shock, looked back up at those see-through green eyes and leant forward again. He placed another soft smooch on those lips with enough slowness to seemingly bury the folds of the skin of their lips into each other and make them tear apart most dramatically and sexily as he drew back.

Blaise had seized and arrested Harry's gaze, watching him motionlessly, waiting on him to see what he would do, how he would react. And then Blaise withdrew his hand from Harry's neck and by this returned Harry's volition to him; it was plain that Blaise was testing Harry, that he wanted him to act on his own now; effectively he had taken away any possible excuse to Harry's benefit.

Harry, Merlin forgive him, glanced down at Blaise's lips, heart pounding, and back up at Blaise's brown, watchful eyes. Harry merely stared, frightened. Frightened by the choice and freedom he had been given back.

Blaise, however, moved ever so slightly forward to put his lips at such a close and tantalizing distance from Harry's that they could feel their breaths on each other's faces, and with each blast to the face of the other, the dare grew stronger.

Harry dived forward and pecked Blaise's lips.

This one move seemed to resume the proceedings as time stepped forward once again, as Harry's brain screeched and whirred back to life, and as the world righted itself as it should never have had to do in the first place. Harry tried to slide past Blaise but Blaise held him off again.

"Blaise, let me go," said Harry calmly, struggling with him.

"No," said Blaise, ducking his head just so that he was in Harry's face again as they struggled, teasing him, closing that distance between their lips.

"I need to go," said Harry still calmly, and as he still struggled against Blaise to remove himself from the countertop. With his knees on either side of Blaise's hips, he felt as vulnerable as though he had a vagina staring at Blaise's crotch instead of his own crotch, which was ridiculous. "Just let me go."

"No."

The truth was that Harry was terrified of what he had done. What if Draco found out...?

The death strike was the gentle tug of Blaise's teeth on his lower lip, and next thing Harry was pressing his head against Blaise, kissing him decidedly.

In a matter of seconds he just couldn't get a hold of Blaise, for he didn't want to put his arms over his shoulders and around his neck – that was an embarrassingly girly thing to do. But he had a fantastic yearning to grip him in some manner, to drag him closer, mesh their lips harder against each other. In the end, though, his conscience still in fact, he was grinding his forehead into Blaise's and twisting his head around Blaise's in a guiltily vague attempt to shy his lips away from Blaise's, but they never lost contact.

"Come on, Potter, you know you want it," panted Blaise, when he felt Harry taking his foot off the pedal. "Little Harry wants it too."

Harry finally dredged up enough mind to push his forehead into Blaise's, in that way making as if he were bowing to pray and thereby disconnecting their lips. He took a moment to breathe deeply and to try to stop his head from spinning, because it had certainly lost its axis at some point.

_He's gonna kill me..._

"Don't stop," whispered Blaise, and he took Harry by the neck again and dragged him willingly back into a second abyss. As they kissed, there was an indelible frown on Harry's brow as he hazily thought, round and round, '_He's gonna kill me... He'll never forgive me..._'

"Nnnnno..." whined Harry against Blaise's lips, feeling all giddy and guilty. Blaise was busy unrelentingly rubbing his hard bulge; it seemed Blaise knew just the thing to do to exact a certain feeling in Harry, who was a helpless marionette under his spell, and with whom this did not sit right; Blaise's careful control of his senses and orchestration of his feelings strongly suggested he was well versed in these things, and that Harry was just the next thing along. Harry tried leaning away, pushing his palms against Blaise's chest, but Blaise's hand took Harry's bum and pushed Harry right into him, pressing Harry's groin into his stomach. Harry struggled lazily and unwillingly against him, a mind fog stupefying his limbs, making them feel primitive and boneless like flagella.

"What did you two do exactly yesterday?" whispered Blaise between breaks in kissing for air.

With that question, Harry, foggy his mind though it may be, knew what Blaise had done: by involving Draco in the situation he was driving a knife into Harry's conscience.

_He can never know..._

"Did what...?" asked Harry dazedly, grappling for his bearings.

"How did you and Draco shag exactly? I can't seem to decide who between the two of you takes it up the arse."

Blaise perverted this question even further by moaning and throwing his mouth into Harry's. To Harry it felt like he was trying to turn his mouth inside out and lick it dry. And he so wanted that to happen... if it was possible... Harry scrunched his eyes shut more tightly as though trying to see through a painful palpitation. It wasn't fair that Blaise was talking about Draco in such a time. Wasn't it bad enough Harry was doing this in the first place?

"Potter? Answer me..."

In order to do that he would need his mouth back, which was currently occupied.

"I..."

"Huh...?"

"We..."

"Yes...?"

Harry finally took Blaise by the face and pulled him off. He had wanted to minimize contact between them as much as possible, but the urgency of the situation called for it.

"Why'reyadooey ngis?" Harry asked Blaise, even as he loudly swallowed what us undoubtedly his and Blaise's combined saliva down his throat.

"I asked you a question first."

When Harry didn't make another breathy excuse of an answer to his question, Blaise suddenly took him painfully by the hair and pulled his head backwards, tilting Harry's face so that he was staring down directly into it. Seconds of nothing followed in which Blaise neither threatened Harry any further nor showed expectation of an answer. He simply reattached their lips and they continued kissing until their red lips felt overly raw, swollen, and just about numb, and just before, in Harry's eyes, the entire kitchen rumbled and shook, or if not so at least the sliding wooden door definitely squeaked and whined. While Harry's world was being rocked, Blaise had taken off Harry's trainers and was slipping off his socks. By this time they had panted out too much air to care to continue their ministrations, so they just loudly recovered their breaths in their faces, feeling each of their pants, watching each other's faces – red in several places.

"I can't do this... He won't..."

"Won't what, Potter?" breathed Blaise, refusing to let him go.

"He just won't... He won't understand..."

"I think it's perfectly understandable. It's simple, really."

Harry now more than ever wanted to leave, and not just for one reason.

"Listen," whispered Blaise seductively, his hands inching towards Harry's jean buttons. "We got this far; a little further won't hurt."

"No," protested Harry, his fingers now fighting with Blaise's at the site of Harry's zip. He should feel appalled of himself. How dare he not be stronger against Blaise since the moment he accosted him in the corridor?

"Don't be shy, Potter. I thought you would have dropped your whole big-eyed-innocent outfit the moment you and Draco hooked up; if _he_ can't fix you up-"

"Blaise, no," said Harry firmly, struggling to stop Blaise's hand from drawing his zipper down to reveal his problem.

Blaise laughed. "Don't be scared." And without warning Blaise yanked down Harry's pants; Harry reacted instinctively and sent a flying fist one Blaise Zabini's way.

It took about three seconds for Blaise to realize he had been punched by Harry Potter, during which he stopped whatever he had been doing. Recovering himself, Blaise tested his jaw with a condescending smirk; evidently Harry had done little damage. His eyes flicked down to Harry's groin, and his smirk lengthened to nearly resemble one of Draco's most severe, most scorning smirks.

"Isn't that just cute," Blaise commented, and continued with mock shyness, "All that just for me?"

Harry didn't have to look down to see what Blaise was talking about – he could clearly feel it slick and cooling rapidly. Harry fisted his hands again, perhaps to let off some manly knuckle cracks. They never came.

Blaise looked down at Harry's fists and his smirk buckled as it did when he was unbearably amused. To add insult to grievous injury, Blaise bowed and kissed one of Harry's fists as a mother would that of a baby. He straightened, his grin nearly blinding Harry, he glimpsed Harry's wet Snitch underpants one more time, glanced up at Harry's eyes to let him know that he knew, and started sauntering towards the door.

Before reaching it, however, he turned back slightly and said over his shoulder, "You asked me why am I doing this?" Harry held his eyes as Blaise gave him a calculating once-over. "I think I see a little something – a glimpse – of what Draco saw in you. But it's like... for me, I feel like I want to... break you... and then build you up again, start you over... I cant' deny it – there is something about you, Potter, that attracts people to you, and I think it's a little different for each person. For me personally, you're too plain and heroic for my liking, and I want to get to the core of you, and rip it out." Blaise gave Harry an airborne smooch, and then he was off again, the door whining and squeaking as he slid it open.

"Enjoyed the peep-show, Weasley?" drawled Blaise, as he shut the door behind.

Harry's heart stopped.

He could've sworn he saw his whole life flash in front of his eyes as he bolted for the door and whizzed around a few corners just before catching Ron's big-'R'-knitted sweater whipping out of sight and the door shut. Doing his pants back up, Harry looked right and left of the hallway like an innocent pedestrian but also as suspect as a philanderer. He turned the doorknob and snuck into the room. Ron turned around quickly and gave him an uncomfortable and deliberately judgemental once-over; Harry winced.

"Ron."

"Hey there... mate," replied Ron, obviously playing on Blaise's earlier greeting to Harry, who flushed a straight purple.

"Ron, what you saw-" began Harry in panic.

"See what, Harry?" asked Ron coolly.

"You know what you saw," said Harry a little defensively.

"Can you be more specific on what it is that I 'saw'?"

"Don't play bullshit games with me, Ron!"

"You're not in a position to be telling me what to do," retorted Ron.

"Yes I do!" Harry shot back. He swiftly shortened the distance between them. "I can't believe you—you actually-"

"I never—did that to her!" protested Ron at once, flushing his trademark fiery scarlet.

"Ron, she was crying in the fuckin' library! She told me everyt-!"

"You and Blaise seemed to be having fun," announced Ron loudly in a very announcer-like voice.

Ron might as well have used the Sonorus Charm according to Harry! Better yet, stand on top of the spire of the villa and shout it across all of Scotland for that matter!

"It wasn't fun!" whispered Harry, mutinous.

"You don't call eating each other's faces off and undress-"

"We weren't sucking each other's faces off! I wasn't doing that!"

Ron dramatically raised both his eyes very slowly and widened his eyes. "Really?"

"He—he forced himself on me! Like you forced yours-!"

"So you're a helpless bloke who can't defend himself, is that it?"

"Yes!" said Harry promptly.

Ron's eyebrows rose still higher.

"He—Blaise's huge! I—He's stronger than me! I couldn't do anything!"

"Hm," observed Ron, his lips becoming what couldn't have been a more infuriating pair of pursed lips that Harry had ever seen, and considering Hermione enjoyed a patent for them, that was saying something. Ron nodded slightly, giving Harry yet another once-over. "And I guess you forgot all about that little twig called your wand, eh?"

Harry's face dove into the deepest, yet undiscovered shades of red. Yes, he could have... he could've... but he hadn't thought of... _Blast it...!_

"Just admit it," challenged Ron, "you wanted it as much as he did. Only thing is that for him it's nothing personal, while you like attaching yourself completely to every small single thing-"

"I didn't enjoy it!"

"You were panting like a fuckin' dog!" returned Ron. "A panting bitch in heat!"

"You watch your mouth!"

"Or what?" shouted Ron.

"Or-!"

"Just look at you!" continued Ron, his disgusted eye fixing on Harry's swollen lips, the tussled hair, the inerasable look of indulgent guilt in the eyes – the patent picture of someone plainly and thoroughly ravished. All that was missing were some hickeys along his neck.

A moment of silence lapsed in the room in which Harry couldn't escape feeling every brief inch of the guilt that passed through him.

"You've done worse," growled Harry.

"I've done no such-"

"You raped Hermione!"

"And you _believe_ her?"

"Ron, you-" began Harry incredulously.

"I didn't r—r—rape her! We were having sex!"

"She said you were rough with her!"

"Of course she'd say that! She's mistaking my passion for aggression!"

"Don't think I'm stupid, Ron-!"

"Sure hell looks like it-"

"-Hermione wouldn't normally just accuse you of something like that!"

Ron scratched his head furiously for a second. "Let's just drop this, all right?"

"Ron, how can we—You bloody raped a girl!"

"I'll tell Draco!" said Ron quite randomly, and unsurprisingly, Harry was thrown off track.

"You'll what?"

"I'll tell Draco what you did with _Zabini_ if you don't drop it now!"

Harry looked at Ron for a second.

"Ron, we're talking about you forcing yourself on Hermione here," he said in a very calm, almost defeated-sounding voice. He shook his head. "Don't you—don't you feel the least bit guilty?" He couldn't believe his best friend of four years was this heartless, he just couldn't.

"I'll tell Draco what you did if you don't shut it right this second."

"And why would you do that?" asked Harry, disappointed in Ron as he could have never imagined. If only he could see a glimmer of remorse from him...

"So I don't have to hear your righteous arse go off on me," replied Ron. He thrust his chin in the air. "Kiss me."

Harry blinked.

Ron's nostrils flared with visible nervousness, and his eyes darted to Harry's lips, so recently ravished by Blaise's lips...

"Kiss you? But, Ron, we're... we're—we're friends...!"

"Oh isn't Blaise your friend too? And you just devoured him a few minutes ago!"

"He devoured _me_!" protested Harry, the volume and passion rising again in the room.

"Just do it!"

"Why do you want me to-?" It was at this point Hermione's words struck him: _"...He was trying to prove to himself that he was, you know, not gay but straight..."_

"Ron, you're not gay."

"How do you know?" exploded Ron so unexpectedly Harry's skin nearly jumped right off his bones.

"Because you're not, trust me." Harry said those last two words to somehow begin to draw Ron back to the person he knew Ron to be, and that person was much more likely to approach a semblance of remorse than the person he was seeing right now in front of him.

"But you don't have proof!" shouted Ron almost before Harry could finish. His body was a tightly sprung coil as suddenly as his words were sudden.

"Ron, just take my word for it, please," said Harry.

"I want you to kiss me! Like you kissed Blaise!" Ron demanded with his eyes closed. He couldn't even say these words while looking Harry in the eye; Harry shook his head hopelessly.

It was the second time that day he was being ordered to kiss a boy other than Draco. He couldn't bring himself even to face the shame that prospect presented, yet what was funny was that it was not as serious as the first one involving Blaise, because he didn't have complicating feelings towards Ron – Ron was just his friend and hopefully would always be just his friend.

"I'm not gonna—I don't want to kiss you, Ron."

A moment's pause.

"You don't bloody have a choice in the matter, Harry!" yelled Ron. Harry wondered if the room was sound-proof, because Ron was surely testing his luck if he wanted to retain his leverage over him; anybody should be able to hear him loud and clear around the house in that volume. Perhaps after Seamus had heard him and Hermione getting down they had cast a Silencing Charm over the room. That would also explain why they didn't hear Hermione's screams last night when Ron had raped Hermione.

When Ron realized that Harry wasn't going to budge, he stuttered forward, his feet stubborn and jerky – he was clearly embarrassed to approach Harry. Ah yes, this Harry understood – it was far easier to let someone take the choice away from you than for you to have the choice in the first place, or even worse, to have that choice given back to you. Blaise was a pure Slytherin.

The reason why he couldn't react quickly enough was that he didn't think Ron capable of it, so Harry found himself suspended in both astonishment and the air as he was for the second time that day swept off his feet as Ron grabbed him and threw him on the bed.

"Ron!"

Okay, Harry was beginning to panic a little now.

Next moment amidst all the thrashing going on Harry felt Ron's lips on his – a vicious enduring attack on him.

"RON!"

There was scratching and growling and grunting and between-body friction and more forced kissing... And it fleetingly fascinated Harry that though he wasn't the slightest bit attracted to Ron, there was a still a rock-hard erection pressing into Ron's groin, and Ron certainly couldn't deny feeling it... But all motion and struggle seized when a wand whipped into view.

Evidently, Ron did not dare underestimate a wand-wielding Harry... And there's the tiny fact that he was capable of a Killing Curse technically... Ron stared down the length of Harry's wand into Harry's face, which quivered with fury, neither of them barely breathing, yet in much need of doing so.

Several seconds passed between them without a word. Ron slowly and carefully disarmed himself, letting his taut muscles loosen and loosening his various grips on Harry, who, however, didn't lower his wand.

But Ron didn't move away but remained in between Harry's legs, all the while still staring into his eyes, his lips white and drawn again like a shrivelled onion ring.

"You're not like me, Ron, okay," said Harry. "See?" He rubbed himself brieftly against Ron to notify him of the erection pressing into his flat groin. Ron's head ducked down to investigate this.

"Why did you do it?" Harry asked quietly, his need to rediscover the presence of remorse inside Ron proving too powerful for his fury. His wand arm sagged in hopeful affection.

It was a slow and gradual progression – the eyes returning to his own and then being downcast, the Adam's apple bopping once up, once down, the nostrils widening, the chin pulling up and scrunching, then the lips stretching into the cheeks and pulling down, the reddening cheeks, and then next thing Harry knew Ron was crying.

"I'm sorry, Harry!" wailed Ron in Harry's chest.

"You need to apologize to Hermione, not me!" said Harry, blinking his tears back furiously so that he didn't join Ron; he wanted to be strong for him.

"I don't know what the fuck's wrong with me, Harry!"

"It's normal, it's normal!" Harry didn't know if what he was saying was right or wrong, but it seemed it was usually the quickest way of allaying the fears of someone in growing pains. He rubbed Ron's back round and round vigorously. "You were confused, you were confused, Ron, that's all, I promise! You didn't mean to do it, did you?" Ron moaned and shook his head vigorously. "I know you didn't! You'd never do such a thing! I know you, Ron, you aren't capable of it! I just you were frustrated, yeah?" Harry's chest muffled Ron's almighty howl as the flaming red hair wiggled once again in assent.

"Ibibminnitarry!"

"It's okay, it's okay, I know, I know! It wasn't you!" "...But you need to apologize to her, Ron, you need to!"

Ron nodded vigorously.

"Iwiyawi!"

"Okay, Ron, okay... You need to do it now, Ron. Just listen to me. You need to go to her now, when you're like this. Wait, don't-" Harry stopped Ron's hands from wiping away his tears – they were props – invaluable props for the impending act. "-don't, just leave them on! Just leave them on! Just leave them on!" They adjusted positions as Harry began sitting up because Ron was getting on his haunches, leaving his face to run and shine with tears, the off-the-wall props. "Okay, Ron, okay..." said Harry, with the air of someone plotting an intricate machination. "She's in the library. Just go up there – make sure you don't run into Blaise or Draco or we'll never hear the en—You're going to tell her exactly what you told me-" Actually, Ron has never said an intelligible word – he just cried and moaned and nodded. "-I mean, you're going to tell her that you're very, very, very, very, very, _very_, VERY, _VERY_, sorry!

"Iwiwillawi! I wasn't really that hard on her-!"

"Ron, stop it! Now!" And out of sheer spontaneity, Harry took the singular and greatest pleasure of giving Ron a fully licensed power hi-five to the left cheek. _Merlin, have MERCY that felt good...!_

The blow was so powerful that a large portion of the tears/props was slapped off and blew to the side; Ron might as well have been caught in a very patchy drizzle.

Ron stared at Harry in wild disbelief.

"Harry...!" breathed Ron, in that heaving, catchy way in which someone just walking in after surviving a very heavy shower outside talks.

"Don't Harry me!" berated Harry, wagging a finger, whose path Ron's eyes followed. "You are going to accept all the blame – even if you think you don't deserve just that little bit at the end there – Ron, I'm serious you need to show her total remorse! She needs to know that you're serious!" Ron nodded sombrely, looking slightly pathetic and pitiable. "I don't want to shove words down your throat to spill back to her-" Ron looked up quickly and starting making protesting noises. "-No, Ron, you have to use your own words! You have to be genuine! Isn't it you really hurt her?"

Ron paused, visibly tempted to murmur something like, 'But I truly, honestly, really wasn't that hard on her,' but Ron seemed to be, for once, a fast learner, for he nodded.

Harry breathed in deeply, relief flooding in with the new air. "Okay, you need to go, now. Let's—come, let's go-" But before he could drag them off the bed, Ron clutched tightly at him.

"You're my best mate, Harry."

"And you're mine, Ron," returned Harry, before they pulled apart, looked each other in the eye, neither tempted to smile and mock the moment, but climbed off the bed and walked out of the room. Harry escorted him as far as the library threshold.

"She's in there, just go in there... and... fight for your friendship. That's all I'm asking of you, Ron."

Ron looked over his shoulder and gave Harry what was almost a sympathy-stirring expression before dragging his feet over the threshold—_BAM!_—and slamming into the invisible barrier.

"Oh yeah, sorry about that, forgot to warn you on that," said Harry with a small, cheerful note as Ron rubbed his forehead. Quite fittingly expecting no sympathy from Harry, Ron didn't look back but croaked,

"Hermione? Hermione, please, I need to talk to you."

Harry turned his back on him and walked off.

It was true he did feel like he had indulged on a forbidden fruit, and it was making his mind itchy and restless. He couldn't imagine how he would feel looking Draco in the eye knowing what he had done with Blaise. And then there was the threat of Blaise himself. Harry was certain beyond any doubt that Ron wouldn't spill the beans to Draco; he was especially confident because of what had happened between him and Ron in his and Hermione's bedroom: it had made their friendship stronger. So the only person he had to worry about was Blaise, because he had the ominous potential to tell on him for the mere sake of watching him flounder in front of Draco. Hence, Harry walked back into the sitting very tensely, barely wanting to take notice of Draco and Blaise bantering while browsing a pair of books noncommittally.

"Blaise tells me something interesting here, Harry," remarked Draco out of nowhere and before even Harry took his seat. Harry froze.

Blaise smirked at him.

"I knew there was something wrong with him the moment I laid eyes on him," said Draco. "Eurgh! Weasley, a voyeur!"

Harry stopped breathing.

Blaise's smirk grew taller.

"I can't imagine Weasley spying on me while I'm buggering someone." Draco shuddered.

Harry's eyes darted to Blaise, asking questions, none of which Blaise answered back.

"I mean, doesn't he understand the concept of privacy?" Draco went on, seemingly too disgusted at Ron to bother about Harry's reaction. "But oh yes, I should remind myself, there hardly ever must be any privacy in that excuse of a makeshift triple-story dunghill."

"Teeming with Weasley termites," inserted Blaise, nodding.

Draco shuddered again.

"I mean why spy? It's not as if you were talking about Harry cheating on me with Hermione or you two were shagging or anything."

Harry was the first to laugh and the shrillest to do so.

Blaise was having a field day – he was enjoying seeing Harry squirm like this. He was in a position of power as Ron had been earlier.

Draco shook his head, smiling. "But you wouldn't cheat on me, Harry, would you?" he asked, idly turning a page but fastening his gaze on Harry.

"Me? Cheat? Never!" said Harry brightly.

Draco nodded solemnly. "Right," he said, and then continued in a serious voice, "You shouldn't dare, Harry, shouldn't dare." Draco may as well have been sharpening a disembowelling hook blade as he said that.

Blaise side-glanced at Draco, looked away, and then looked at Harry, who put his hands onto his knees, wondering about a million things Draco would do to punish him if Draco found out. The hook blade ghostes past his eyes with that dungeon Draco had been talking about in Malfoy Manor.

Blaise then tilted his head to the side, looking at Harry wonderingly.

"Hm," said Blaise, "but you never used to mind sharing your girls, Draco, so why so modest these days?"

Draco slapped Blaise on the arm, glancing guiltily at Harry, who grabbed oh-holy-gracious opportunity with both hands and eyed Draco sternly as though in chastisement.

"Don't listen to him, he doesn't know what he's talking about!" said Draco severely at Blaise, glaring at him.

"Ha!" laughed Blaise dryly. "In fact, Potter," he went on, addressing Harry, "we used to have group sessions with every passing girlfriend of his. Remember back in that room on the fifth floor when Fauss had you and Draco cornered? Remember what he said?"

How could Harry forget?

"_You can't get your knickers off in front of us anymore?"_

Fauss had said that. Harry suspected he was talking about Draco being as comfortable undressing in front of people as Voldemort was murdering.

"M-hm," said Blaise, nodding at the reminiscing expression on Harry's face. "And yes, he could mass undress all of us with that charm. What was it again? It was a specialty of his."

"Sudden Starkers Spell," said Harry quietly, eying Draco sternly again, and this time there was no pretence about it.

"That was then, Harry!" laughed Draco.

"And then we'd all pound his girlfriend," finished Blaise, staring into the distance. "Sometimes at the same time... I still swear there was just something about Preston's arse that was special. I'm telling you, she had like little barbs up in there or something... Damn, that bird's the best shag I've-"

"_Though_," interrupted Draco, "I wouldn't mind a threesome at all... again..."

It took long for both Blaise and Harry to realize to whom Draco was referring.

"So!" said Harry abruptly, glancing speculatively at the books on the table and randomly picking one. "Animagi! We should seriously get started with doing that. I'm sure Hermione would agree."

"I don't know, that does sound tempting, Draco," said Blaise, in a smoky voice, eying Harry as though he were something to eat.

Draco turned on Blaise incredulously. "Since when were you a knob jockey?"

"Draco, being crass doesn't suit you. Leave the filthy tongue for those nauseating low-class dirtbag Slytherins. And I'm not a 'knob jockey', I just see a little bit of what you see in Harry: he's sexy in a different way..."

Okay, that was the last straw; Harry was decidedly uncomfortable now.

Draco was smiling as he inspected a corner of a page. His face sobered before he said, "Don't know, don't feel like sharing these days..."

"'Cause it's Potter?" asked Blaise.

"Maybe."

"I knew that," said Blaise with a wise, even almost proud smile, "just had to find a way of making you say that – for Potter's benefit. And I know for a fact that it's because it's Potter specifically."

Draco was already reading a paragraph in the book, though his gilded cheeks gave him away.

Blaise was watching Draco as though he had lost a friend, because Draco had indeed changed – he wasn't the same person he used to be.

"Well!" he announced, as he stood up. "I'm enough of this fluff; I have to decontaminate myself now. Going to take a stroll around the house or something; anything's better than this. Oh and please, if you're going to do it, don't do it on my part of the couch." With that, Blaise sauntered out of the room.

While Harry was trying to find a spot to look at so he didn't have to face Draco, Draco was steadily growing pinker in the face with the escalating silence.

Harry carefully considered Blaise's words, and now by them, he felt... owned, branded by Draco... and he was proud of it.

But all the while, the silence was thickening, and Harry could plainly see Draco wasn't concentrating on reading as his frown reported.

"Jesus," said Harry, out of necessity to say something to break the tension.

Draco, swift opportunist he was, waved and muttered, "_Look Me Up: Jesus._ Always wondered what that is you keep shouting out."

Talk about creating something out of nothing.

The familiar clear, crisp female voice filled the room:

"No match. Please take care to clearly enunciate the term which you wish to Look Up. Insert pauses of reasonable duration when looking up Wizarding phrases or idioms."

"Well, obviously Jesus is unmatched," remarked Harry, grappling for anything to start some kind of conversation – it was better than the silence.

"Who is he?" asked Draco amicably, playing along.

Harry pulled a face of concentration. "Hm... Well, to be put it simple, he's a god's son—No, wait, he's God's son."

"There's a god called God?" asked Draco. "How creative. So this 'God' lives in the—or Muggles believe in him?"

"Well, the majority of them. They always write his name with a capital 'G' and when they talk about him they use capital 'H' for He and Him."

Draco pulled an impressed face. "Talk about reverence."

"Yeah!" laughed Harry. "So..." he continued, when they stopped smiling, "Merlin's like _your_ god here, right?"

"...Something like that," said Draco, smiling again. "Though not with a capital 'g'."

"But with a capital 'M', though," reminded Harry.

"With a capital 'M'," agreed Draco, beaming drunkenly at Harry as though drunk on him. "Come here."

Harry stood up, went around the table, and sat next to Draco, where Draco stared at him uncomfortably before pecking his cheek. He turned back to the book and put a hand under his chin. Harry did the same and perused the book Blaise had been.

"Did you clean up Hermione's breakfast on the floor?" asked Harry, whereupon Draco nodded.

A few minutes later, Draco said vaguely, "Oh that's genius!"

"What is?"

"Am I a genius or what? Maybe we can get a clue about our Animagi forms using our wand cores!"

"Goodness, that's such a good idea!" said a voice from the door. "Why didn't I think of it?"


	15. Blazing Relapse

**Chapter 15**

**Blazing Relapse**

Ron and Hermione entered the room holding hands, Hermione leading the way with a face of excitement at Draco's suggestion and Ron trailing behind, the perfect picture of shame.

Harry and Draco stared at them as they crossed the floor and seated themselves on the opposite couch. Harry and Draco looked at each other.

"So?" asked Hermione, looking between Harry and Draco. "What are your wand cores?"

Harry and Draco exchanged looks again.

"Yes!" said Harry loudly. "Er, yes! Mine is a phoenix tail feather!"

Hermione nodded with a smile. "So you think your Animagus form is a phoenix?"

"Er, yeah! Possibly!" shouted Harry, grinning wildly.

Hermione turned her eyes on Draco.

"Oh!" said Draco, eyes wide, realizing he's on cue. "Mine's a—er... a—er..."

"A what?" asked Hermione, still smiling.

Harry was too focussed on watching Hermione and wondering about her to notice that Draco's flush.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Draco.

"A tail hair from a unicorn," admitted Draco finally.

Harry turned to Draco. "A unicorn?"

Draco did not answer.

Harry broke into full laughter, while Ron had a conservative fit.

"Unicorn boy!" said Harry, giggling loudly but still keeping one eye on Hermione, who was smiling as though all was right in the world. "How fitting! Imagine a unicorn in the house! Oh! If Hagrid finds that out he won't be able to keep his hands off you!"

"Potter!" Draco half yelled half moaned, disgusted.

"Pretty like a unicorn, ha ha!" laughed Harry.

Ron abruptly stopped laughing and, closing his eyes, announced, "I want to say something."

Harry stopped laughing suddenly.

Ron turned to Hermione. "I want to say this in front of everyone."

It was a long and grand apology, every part of which everyone listened to attentively.

"...And, Harry," went on Ron, turning to Harry, "I want to say sorry to you too. I promised you – well, effectively promised you – that I would support you no matter what if you were with Draco. I want to promise that to you again, and this time I won't slip up."

"Thank you, Ron," said Harry.

"What's going on now?" asked Blaise, as he entered the sitting room.

"Oh we were just enjoying a heartfelt apology from Ron here," Draco told him. "I can almost say I believe him."

Blaise took his seat.

"I believe him," said Harry, staring at Ron, who smiled gratefully.

"And that's the difference between you and me," remarked Draco, but went on to say, "Just pulling your leg, I do believe him. If he's insincere right now after... what he did... then he must be the greatest actor on this planet..."

"So, Hermione, are you okay?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Ron apologized over and over again. I had to stop him. But we have also reached an agreement: he has to give me a present every day until I feel like he has done enough. Oh and he also has to wake up when I wake up, which is at five o'clock."

Ron winced mournfully.

"So why exactly was he rough with you?" Blaise enquired.

Harry elbowed Blaise and turned a deadly look at him.

"That is none of your business, Blaise," said Hermione coolly.

Blaise lazily raised an eyebrow and looked away as though his question had merely been more to get into the conversation and be relevant than for the fact that he was interested in the answer.

"Where're your shoes?" Draco asked Harry, whose jaw dropped.

"Er..." said Harry, his mind working furiously even as it presented glimpses of that kitchen and Blaise in front of him and his lips on his lips and feeling Blaise's soft hands slipping his socks off and...

"I told him to take them off," replied Blaise in Harry's stead. "They were atrocious, weren't they?"

"I was afraid of telling him," said Draco, with a delicate grimace. "Hated everywhere they went. We should get you better footwear than those slipshod excuses, Harry – your feet deserve it."

"Speaking of getting new wear, I don't have clothes," informed Blaise. "I am wearing the same clothes I did yesterday." He said this in a tone that suggested he thought wearing the same clothes two days in a row was no different than being on death row.

"Hm," said Draco wonderingly as he stared at Blaise. "We can't risk going back on Winox Lane..."

"Can't Tibby just wash them every day?" asked Hermione, as her stomach growled, to where every eye went.

"But it's not enough washing the same clothes everyday!" complained Blaise, acting such the drama queen.

Hermione's stomach growled again in reply, something decidedly unflattering for a girl.

"Did you clean up Hermione's breakfast on the floor?" asked Harry, whereupon Draco nodded.

"Tibby," Draco said.

_POP!_

"At your service, Master Draco!"

"Could you get Hermione some food please?"

Without bothering to look around at who this Hermione was, Tibby nodded and promptly disappeared, returning seconds later with another loaded, steaming plate of breakfast, which Hermione accepted gratefully.

"You know, we should get on with our 'training'," said Draco, his eyes a little distant. "Like Harry said, we don't have Voldemort's diary at hand, so we can only do our best to prepare ourselves as quickly as we can."

The air around the sitting room dulled. Hermione lost her appetite rapidly.

Harry thought for some several minutes as the others ordered snacks from Tibby.

"Just a frikkadel, thanks," Harry said to Tibby. He enjoyed his frikkadel a moment later, chewing thoughtfully as the others made conversation.

"We need to get into contact with the Hogwarts students," he declared.

"You're out of your mind," declared Blaise, as he visibly savoured his truffle.

"I'm not," Harry shot back, taking more offence to this than if it had been any other person besides Blaise. "If you think about it-"

"Think indeed," snorted Blaise.

"-There is no other way. We can't take on Voldemort and his whole crew on our own."

An uneasy silence followed these words.

Harry looked around. "What? You think I'm crazy?"

"Not crazy per se," replied Draco, "but a little off your rock and a little bit far-fetched, don't you think?"

"What's far-fetched about it?" asked Harry, confused. "What's far-fetched about getting into contact with the other Hogwarts students-?"

"That would assume we were also students," interjected Ron.

"You know what I mean, Ron!" snapped Harry, who did not understand why the others weren't seeing things as clearly as he was. "I mean, what are we going to do just as we are? Rock up to Voldemort, tap his shoulder, and ask him, 'Hey, Voldemort. We – just the five of us – would like to go against you and your _entire army_!'"

No one responded to this.

"It's simple. It's just numbers and power. We simply need more people to fight him! Isn't he recruiting giants now? Isn't he rebuilding his werewolf army?"

Immediately after saying this, Harry felt sick – with dread. And yet still no one was talking. They were all enjoying their little snacks and looking about everywhere except at him. Harry turned to Hermione, one person he could rely on to be rational, and found her gazing at her knees.

"Am I talking to myself here?" he asked, looking around.

Ron did seem slightly green. Blaise looked unconcerned as though he thought his being a new member of the circle would exclude him from such talk. Draco, while there was a determined-looking set to his jaw, seemed to be trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible under Harry's gaze.

"Draco?" asked Harry.

Draco turned to him quickly with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look.

"What, Harry?" he asked, looking royally confounded.

"The plan!" Harry shouted in frustration. "What's the plan?"

"I don't know what the plan is! Why you asking me?" Draco shouted back. "We haven't discussed anything yet!"

"Because we've got no plan! We're just sitting here like we're in a bloody fairytale cartoon when we're running out of time!"

As he gazed around the sitting room again he felt terribly alone. Even Hermione would have taken charge by now with some book extracts or teaching them some incantations, but she did not appear to be herself, and she was still gazing at her knees, her expression strangely deadened.

"Can we talk about something else, please?" drawled Blaise.

Truth be told, we would have liked to talk about something else – anything that would allow him escape from the depression threatening to smother him at this point – had it been anyone else but Blaise to suggest it, and Harry did not like his tone.

"No, we can't."

"I'll just have to remove myself, again," said Blaise airily, as he came to his feet and started swaying and sliding out of the room.

"Blaise," Harry called after him. "You're part of this! You can't just leave!"

"Watch me, Potter," Blaise tossed over his shoulder. "And I know you are."

"And you," growled Harry, turning on Draco quickly before Blaise's words could settle on anyone's ears. "I thought you were dead set on getting back at Voldemort; why aren't you supporting me? You're my boyfriend, bloody hell!"

"That's unfair, Harry," muttered Draco.

"Oh enlighten me!" said Harry, throwing his arms towards the heavens.

"Harry, please," begged Draco quietly. "No one's in the mood, okay, especially after..." He jerked his head at Ron and Hermione. "Can't we just let things cool a bit and talk about it some other time?"

"Meanwhile Voldemort is getting stronger," stated Harry, arms crossed afront his chest.

"It's not like he's going to attack Hogwarts tomorrow, is he?" said Draco.

"We wouldn't know!"

"Harry, it's a big castle with enchantments upon enchantments," replied Draco. "And the teachers aren't entirely useless, you know."

"You think a rotting castle and a couple of teachers are enough to fight Voldemort, do you? That's nothing if we don't get to the other kids!" said Harry adamantly. "Mobilize the masses! We need to train them! Somehow! You guys keep and keep underestimating Voldemort! I don't!"

More silence met his words. Harry smacked his thighs in frustration as he stood up and diddle-daddled awkwardly until he decided which way he was going. He exited the sitting room, went out the garden door, and was about to sit down on the veranda when he saw Blaise sitting there.

Blaise turned his head and looked him up and down suggestively. Furious beyond words, Harry turned back around towards the house and-

"Potter."

"What, Blaise?" snapped Harry, hanging by the door, ready to shut Blaise's face out with it.

"Come sit with me," said Blaise, with a smile.

"What makes you think I wanna sit with you?" spat Harry. To any other person his words would have felt deliciously biting and brought about an innocent, day-to-day savage satisfaction to the speaker by the reaction of their victim, but this was Blaise, whose smile only widened.

"Because I know you want to," Blaise replied softly, and seeing that Harry was unmoved and actually farther from doing as he wished, he went on, "I won't jump you, I promise."

"What do you want?" asked Harry ungraciously.

Blaise shrugged. "Can't a bloke just hang out with another bloke?"

"We know what happened when we 'hung out'! It wasn't even an hour ago!" hissed Harry, the mere reference to this incident compelling a glance behind the door to make sure he wasn't heard, in the process appearing very suspicious again indeed. He hated acting like this.

"Why don't you just tell him?" suggested Blaise. "You seem really worried he'll find out. That way you don't have to worry anymore."

"Of course I'm worried!" whispered Harry furiously.

"So why don't you tell him?"

"Because—because..."

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"You know, you may as well just sit here – we're talking already anyway."

After looking tempted to arguing with this logic, Harry shot another glance behind the door before marching over to the veranda and rushing his bum down on it.

"Because he'll kill me if he finds out! And it's your fault!" Some desperation entered his voice when he continued, "Fuckin' hell, Blaise, what you just said just now! His not wanting to share me and all that? He'll flay my arse if he finds out! You can't tell him!" Harry found himself begging Blaise. "Jesus, I fucked up badly this time." He put his head in his hands.

Blaise shook his head as he watched this.

"You don't have to worry. He won't hear it from me."

"Promise me!" urged Harry.

Blaise's lips twitched.

"Oh yeah, that," said Harry. _Fuckin' Slytherins._

"I promise," said Blaise seriously. "See, it's not nice to stereotype."

"You lot sure don't make it hard," snorted Harry.

"So that back there was the last time we fooled around?"

Harry stared at Blaise. "You don't get it, do you?"

Blaise blinked innocently.

Fighting to cap his temper, Harry turned to face Blaise fully and said, looking him in the eye, "I don't want you."

"But I want you," replied Blaise smilingly.

"Well that's too bad for you," rapped Harry, looking down at his trainers. They remained in silence for a moment wherein Blaise's smile fell and he seemed to lose interest in Harry – which wasn't sitting right with Harry; for some reason he wanted to capture Blaise... perhaps as severely as Draco had captured him... "And what's this bollocks about you wanting to break me or whatever? 'Rip the core' out of me?"

Harry made sure to visibly enjoy his amusement at these words of Blaise's. _Rip my core out. Really..._

But why the sudden aggression? Bloody hell, Blaise was even starting to control his moods swings...

"I've already explained myself, Potter," said Blaise, in a slightly tired voice.

"Well not too clearly enough then," informed Harry.

Blaise sighed. "I'm tired. I'll do it later."

Harry saw red. How dare Blaise blow him off like that? He gathered himself and tried looking supremely unconcerned.

"Let me know when you feel like it," he drawled very convincingly.

"You want a hug, Potter?" asked Blaise with a cute face. "You sound to be in much need of it."

"Coming from you? No thank you."

"Come on, Harry. Even a rock like you sometimes needs to feel..." Blaise shrugged searchingly. "...comforted. Don't you sometimes get tired of always being the one to look over someone? Don't you sometimes want to just feel – I don't know – someone's arms around you...? For once? For once just drop the hero act and be... free?"

Harry looked at Blaise. "Pfft, no!" he scoffed, chuckling.

"It's free of charge, you know," Blaise told him. "I won't tell anybody."

Harry continued grinning at Blaise disbelievingly, his gaze alight with merriment.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Fine. You can think that I forced you or something."

It was most disturbing to realize that he, Harry, regarded Blaise as one of the 'cool' ones, and... he hated to admit it to himself... looked up to Blaise, in an in fact profound way... Blaise was strong when he needed to be; Harry thought back to that night when they escaped from Riddle Manor. The escape would not have been at all possible if it had not been for Blaise. Generally, Blaise was what he needed to be at the time – nothing more, nothing less. Although Harry thought he could do with a lot less of Blaise's attitude... Or maybe Blaise seemed to Harry to have an attitude only towards him...

Blaise rolled his eyes again before saying quietly, "Fine." And with that, he slid across the veranda in all of minus two seconds, grabbed Harry, and locked him in a strong hug while they sat on the veranda.

"Blaise!" hissed Harry, twisting his neck beyond Blaise to glance at the door behind them, so fearful it would spring open and reveal Draco... "Get the fuck off me!"

"Sit still!"

"Blaise!" whispered Harry.

"DRACO?" shouted Blaise suddenly.

Sheer panic rose inside Harry.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked in a high voice.

"DRACO!" shouted Blaise again.

Harry could not believe Blaise was going to bust him, after... after... Why did he have to fall for Blaise's words? _Fuckin' Slytherin!_

"YEAH?" shouted Draco back, as Harry struggled in Blaise's grip.

"Come join me out here!" yelled Blaise, not letting go of Harry.

"Why? What's up?"

"Nothing! Just wanted to chill with you. Is that a crime, Dracy?"

"Piss off!"

"Is that a 'no'?"

"How brilliant of you to realize!"

"He's definitely not coming here anytime soon," said Blaise in explanation of his ludicrously dangerous actions. "He hates it when I call him by that name; nearly strangled Pansy when she tried it once. You can feel safe you won't be caught out, Potter. At least not today."

"Why're you doing this when you can't even say my first name?" fumed Harry, still struggling out of Blaise's grip for the second time that day. What on earth was the world coming to?

"You want me to say your first name?" asked Blaise softly, in a tone of pleasant surprise.

"...No!" said Harry loudly, after a moment of silence. Now that he had said it, it did sound very stupid.

"You don't want me to say your first name?" deadpanned Blaise, looking down on Harry as he held him.

"I wouldn't care if you did it!"

"For fuck's sake, Harry, you need to find a way of working off your self-made stress. Really, it's unhealthy. Now just sit tight and enjoy being in my arms."

Blaise saying his name did not make him shiver but is surely spooked him.

Beyond humiliated, Harry shut his lips, pursed his lips, crossed his arms, and shook his head, consequently relinquishing his struggle out of Blaise's embrace. Blaise took the opportunity to fit Harry more snugly into his chest. Blaise's eyes travelled around the back of Harry's head and down at the tensed muscles in his neck. When he neared his lips to it, he saw Harry's hands clenching over his knees tightly. Blaise smiled imperiously and withdrew, staring into the garden.

"Hero boy... They also need some rest once in a while, don't you? A short refreshing drink at the water's edge?"

It wasn't an urgent question so Harry felt no compulsion to answer it – he tossed it aside. Truth be told... being held like this...

No. The truth should not be told.

Harry could not believe he let even a minute pass with him being enshrouded by Blaise as he was, but here they were, a minute later... a minute guilty... two minutes later... a minute guiltier...

"So," began Blaise, and it was the fact that Blaise's tone was conversational that made Harry's hairs rise rather than the breath against his neck, "what's all-powerful Harry Potter's plan to save the world?"

"Nice, Blaise," deadpanned Harry. _I'm only just the hero of the Wizarding world._

"Yeah, not so nice," said Blaise, impassive. "See, stereotypes aren't a good thing... No seriously, I think you're right about going back to Hogwarts."

Three seconds of silence followed these words.

"You think so?" said Harry cautiously.

Blaise nodded. "Makes perfect sense. We aren't an army all five of us. It's just as simple as numbers."

"Yeah," said Harry, after a moment, heartened in spite of himself. "That's what I was saying, and they acted like I was suggesting we fly back over to Riddle Manor and have diplomatic tea with Voldemort-" Blaise jerked. "-and tell him if he would kindly call off any attacks on Hogwarts and cease and desist having Voldemort-like ambitions."

Blaise's silence told Harry that he did not want to discuss this topic any further; Harry suddenly felt like a turn-off, as though he were about to jump into bed with a partner but his armpits reeked. He hated Blaise controlling his emotions like these, and he hated himself from allowing himself to feel these emotions. Quite frankly he knew he should not be here because he did not trust himself around Blaise.

Now that talking about the war was virtually banned, just what could he and Blaise talk about? They were just so different!

"How much do you love him?" asked Blaise.

Harry's heart pounded.

"Why?" asked Harry very carefully. "What's it to you?"

"I love him," declared Blaise. It could not have been Harry's imagination that Blaise's grip on him was tighter and suddenly cold. "I have always looked out for him, even if I haven't admitted it to him. I won't let anything happen to him if I can help it. We Slytherins may not be so loyal to others but we're loyal to our own."

"Oh is that why the whole of Slytherin House abandoned Malfoy right from the beginning of the year?" retorted Harry. "I was in that Potions class, Blaise, I saw how they were. You and that Parkinson bitch were the only ones standing anywhere near him. They chucked him just like that for something he could not help."

Blaise was apparently speechless for several of Harry's thunderous heartbeats.

"Let me rephrase that: we're loyal to our own family, or as near to family as we are."

"Draco was terrified of Lucius finding out he was with me – he was afraid he would be disowned."

Blaise kept quiet again. Harry had actually turned around partially and was staring up at Blaise and watching on his face as his mind whirred furiously.

"Okay, _I_ am loyal to Draco," Blaise finally declared.

"Should've said that ages ago, then," Harry put in lightly, as he turned his back on Blaise and softly laid it into Blaise's chest. "Yes, you're loyal to Draco, and...?"

"Make sure you don't hurt him," said Blaise quietly. He sounded very feeble.

"I'll try not to," snorted Harry, deeply relishing that he had not once but twice silenced Blaise. Ah, justice! "Though it isn't easy when-" Oh there he goes spoiling everything!

"-You're around me?" Blaise finished for Harry, whose flush enjoyed no concealment as it was still morning.

"Hardly," snorted Harry, suddenly less than comfortable reclining his back into Blaise.

"Hm, yeah. I would find it hard to believe Harry Potter digs boring, fair old Blaise Zabini," rued Blaise, as he scrutinized Harry's left hand, which fisted promptly. What was it with Blaise and his hands and feet?

"If that was supposed to be sarcasm-"

"Harry, I need your help on making Hermione a present!"

Harry jumped away from Blaise as though he were an exposed cable, but it was too late – Ron's eyes were already bouncing from Harry to Blaise in understanding. Before Harry could allow himself to gather himself he marched over to Ron.

"Let's talk about it inside," he said stiffly, as he past him.

"Damn, Harry, you move fast," muttered Ron.

"Shut up," shot Harry.

And they weaved through the house and almost into Ron and Hermione's bedroom. Breaking into panic, Ron warned she might be in there and so conveniently redirected them back to that kitchen in which Harry and Blaise were making out and in which they remained for several minutes before emerging with Ron having a fresh idea and Harry having worked off his sexual tension courtesy Blaise. Harry was actually irritated at Ron that he had interrupted him and Blaise and told Ron to make a present "from the heart". Effectively, it was a way of telling Ron "you pissed me off" and naturally he left Ron dumbfounded in the kitchen. Ron, apart from failing to read Harry's emotions, never mind Hermione's, blinked left and right as though he did not why he existed.

Harry stalked the house blindly, his attention elsewhere. His mind was truly under siege, the sheer surge of thoughts threatening to burst through the banks of his head, the stubborn stain of guilt scorched behind his eyes, the constant glancing over his back uneasily. He did not know how he was going to continue living like this. So engrossed in his own messy trouble was he that he nearly strode headlong into Blaise making his way back into the house, and his lust surged promptly as Blaise threw him a raised eyebrow and silently went along his way towards the sitting room, swaying and swaggering sexily in front of him.

Harry followed him. He actually really had been heading for the sitting room all along!

They found Draco and Hermione quietly reading again, and Draco was failing to sustain the conversation; it seemed Hermione would rather absorb herself in a book.

"What brilliant discovery have you made now?" asked Blaise, as he brushed past Draco's knees towards his seat. Harry took the space on Draco's other side.

"Nothing new this time," answered Draco. "Haven't had much help," he continued, eyeing Hermione under his eyelashes.

Harry glanced at Hermione still reading the text in front of her, hunching over her knees and with her legs shut tightly together.

"Where's Rapist?"

"Draco!" said Harry, throwing him an angry look.

"What the hell am I supposed to call him?" muttered Draco back.

Harry shook his head at him, making himself clear that he thought Draco was being insensitive. Draco, who at these times usually reacted defensively or proudly, bowed his head in admission of guilt, however. Wow. If only he, Harry, could be so conscientious as to admit guilt. _But he would kill me! Hardly a reason, Harry... _Harry looked away before his own guilt could become plain to Draco.

"Should we get the crate out?" asked Ron, from the doorway as he watched them.

"Crate?" said Blaise, with a look of condescending confusion; Slytherins seemed naturally adverse to the sight of Weasleys.

"Draco's crate where he keeps his toys," replied Ron.

"Toys, right," muttered Blaise.

Ron blushed.

"You're a fine one to be suggesting anything," said Draco. Harry slapped his thigh.

"Yeah why not?" said Harry, as he came to his feet and went to go collect the crate. He however barred Ron from following him – Draco was secretive of its location, even though it was in Blaise's room... And jus then Harry realized he was going to walk into Blaise's room, his actual room... What a cold slap in the face, so unexpected... He really had not planned it, he thought feebly and feverishly, wondering why he had opted to fetch the crate... Maybe it was by some divine doing? Maybe he subconsciously wanted to see Blaise's room without his conscience's knowledge? Whatever the reason, it was frighteningly convenient.

He decided to rather enter the room as though he were barging into it instead of acting as though the room were as sacred as the Time Room in the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry. So Harry bustled in with sweeping energy, as obtrusive and intrusive as Ron himself, and noted the room in front of his eyes.

Well... He could say that... it looked... well... ordinary. But that should have been expected; Blaise after all had come here with only the clothes on his back. Furthermore, Harry could not therefore distinguish between the room being Blaise's and Seamus and Dean's.

But surely there was something that could signify Blaise.

It came to him in the form of smell from the covers – even if the covers might be clean, there was a lingering, characterizing smell of a person, something that marks them from the rest... But he surely could not just walk up the bed and smell the covers – that would look... least of all suspect...

Noting the curtain spreading across the expanse of the wall in front of which stood the headboard, Harry proceeded to a tall, dark-wood armoire with the Malfoy insignia carved on its doors, which he opened and spotted the sickly-orange crate at the bottom of the left compartment; he bent over and began pulling it out, but then noticed something: there was a corner of parchment protruding out of a drawer under the hangers in the right compartment. Being incurably curious as he was, Harry let go of the crate and carefully opened the drawer.

Harry found the parchment to be Blaise's apathetic doodling, and under it was a rather old-fashioned brown leather wallet that unbelievably seemed to be handmade, so battered and tattered and unprofessionally seamed it seemed; Harry's head tilted sideways, impressed. It hardly looked like something Blaise would own; he was a high-class silver-spoon-borne sprig for all of Merlin's moat. Not for the first time Harry pondered upon what was increasingly evidently becoming the whole of Slytherins' kleptomania.

He reached out for it and held it up far and at eye level like a far-sighted grandmother. After a glance to the unscrupulous-looking door Harry worked the zips and magnets until he opened the wallet to find a few coins, a small quill perhaps with which he had been doodling, an eraser, strangely, and a picture.

It appeared to be a family picture, with Blaise standing proudly between his father and mother. Blaise's father was about half a head shorter than him, but his mother just about matched his height. She had strong Native American features – high cheek bones, a Roman nose, and dark black hair wrought into a weaving hairstyle. Apparently inconsiderate of the fact that it was supposed to be a warm family picture, she was pointedly glaring at the camera, or rather the photographer, so much that he seemed to tremble – in fact, she was actually trembling – the photograph moved. Harry would not be surprised if she had all-round Parkinson's disease.

Feeling guilty again – a feeling growing steadily familiar to him – he looked away from the picture, put the wallet back into the drawer, closed the armoire, bent over the crate, and carried it out of the room, returning with it to the sitting room and sharing the joy it brought with the other boys.

Harry finally managed to win on Snitch discs, twice even. Ron lost the most times, and Draco won three times. For some reason Draco challenged Harry and Blaise against each other, and to Harry's annoyance and dismay, Blaise one three to nil. Funny how a winning streak can deceive one so quickly the next moment; Harry could claim he empathized with Muggle gamblers.

However, the defeat to Blaise did not sting so much, for Harry knew he had a secret up his sleeve, and he had conveyed this subliminally through certain almost victorious-looking glances at Blaise which were never successfully deciphered.

"We should try out the first few steps of becoming Animagi," said a voice so unlike any other they had heard before. Draco glanced around the room, and frowning, Harry turned to where the sound had come from and found Hermione – she was hunching over the book with a hand under her chin. Her eyes looked bloodshot. But her voice was what had been that strange, dead noise earlier. It sounded utterly inhuman.

"Hey?" asked Draco cautiously.

"Animagi," replied Hermione simply, in that so un-Hermione-like voice. Ron continued playing Snitch by himself, his cheeks slightly coloured.

"Oh, right," said Draco, giving Hermione a critical once-over.

They did indeed practice the first three steps in becoming Animagi. They utilized the open space between the vineyard and the cliff. As the steps required largely for a person to be of 'sound body and mind', after going what Hermione had gone through, it came as no surprise to Harry that she struggled enormously.

"Let's call it a day, guys," Harry suggested, after several tries.

"But we have to get through the Apparating as well!" insisted Hermione, as she started pushing herself more.

"Tomorrow is another day, isn't it?" said Harry with compassion.

"Oh wasn't it you who was complaining about not having enough time?" snapped Hermione.

"Er—yeah—but..."

"Maybe you're struggling because you ate too much?" suggested Ron. "You did order breakfast twice."

Blaise and Draco winced.

"Thanks a lot, Ron! Now apart from being a failure I'm fat!" And she thundered off.

"It wasn't that much she ate, though?" said Ron tentatively, as though trying to coax the gods into making his words fact.

"I was with her. She barely ate anything, if not nothing," remarked Draco, frowning in affront on Ron's behalf.

"Come on," said Harry, and together they trooped back into the villa.

Harry and Ron spent the day playing more with the Snitch discs and other games available in the crate while Hermione retreated into the library. Draco and Blaise were also rifling through some books on the table.

"One of those times when you feel like a_ Howler_, innit?" said Ron lazily.

"Hm," agreed Harry, who thought _The Hogwarts Howler_'s humour would have been refreshing right then. Unfortunately they were as far from it as Hogwarts.

It was an all-round depressing day, right from Hermione's tragedy and demeanour to the bleak outlook of the immediate future. So down-spirited they all were that the event of lunch at one o'clock came with as much feelings of celebration as someone's birthday would warrant. All this time Harry was very uncomfortable in his sticky underwear as of that earlier encounter with Blaise in a kitchen that seemed to have conveniently sprung into existence from the blue at Blaise's wish. How Harry hated that things seemed to happen for Blaise without his effort. How on earth could anyone miss an entire kitchen? Admittedly there had never been a call before to tour the entire house, and he had only received his 'contact lenses' a mere two weeks ago, which he had spent in Voldemort's cage.

And with this thought of Blaize Zabini came the suffocating guilt once more. Harry gave a swift shufti at Draco beside him as they and Blaise, Ron, and Hermione made their way out the villa again towards the open field before the cliff for their practice session of Apparition (they had decided for it, citing limited time). Hermione again did not really show up for it – her mind seemed elsewhere. Judging by the stunted commitment from the others, Harry thought Hermione's mood was affecting the rest of them; it certainly made them head back to the villa a relatively short time later.

He simply had to confess if he wanted to live without his conscience constantly badgering him. He only mustered the courage to do so after replenishing his tank; that post-dinner lethargy certainly has its uses – courage cuisine. So feeling a little tipsy after a day of relatively little strain, and with the taste of honey-tinged tea lingering on his tongue, Harry made his way with Draco to the master bedroom. Harry waited for Draco to disarm himself and put his wand down on top of the bedside drawer before he spoke.

"Blaise kissed me."

It was not brave but it could reduce the severity of the consequences.

Draco nearly stopped lifting his shirt, but with a frown slipped it over his head, tossing his hair about.

"Blaise kissed you?"

"Yeah. Just jumped on me from nowhere. He dragged me to this other kitchen I haven't seen before and he just snogged me. He nearly went further but I gutted him."

Draco was still frowning as he threw his shirt on the floor. For an aristocrat, Harry thought Draco was remarkably untidy. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was spoilt and probably had house-elves always cleaning up after him.

"But I don't understand why he'd do that – he doesn't like you like that." Draco made a gesture that asked if Harry was going to follow his lead in undressing for bed, but Harry was not feeling inclined to approach Draco further than he already had, despite that he was uttering potentially life-saving lies. "Or maybe he does?" he asked Harry, with a seemingly playful inflection of his voice.

Harry was not fooled – Draco's eyes were intent.

"Maybe," answered Harry. "Can't really see inside his mind, can I?"

"Unless you're a good Legilimens of course," said Draco slowly. "But," he continued, closing his eyes and shaking his head, "Blaise? Dig you? He's not – you know – like us..."

"Maybe he was all along," suggested Harry, as he bravely came closer and started to undress. "Didn't you say you used to do stuff together, you and him?"

"That's hardly a reason to jump my boyfriend and snog the daylights out of him," replied Draco. "What in dear Merlin's name has gotten into him?" He resumed undressing. Harry followed suit, thinking he was safe, until, after donning on his robe and fastening it, he muttered, "I'll just have to confront him, don't I?"

"Confront him?" squeaked Harry. He sprung from the bed and dashed the length of the room.

"Yeah," said Draco carefully, frowning at his actions.

"And ask him what?" asked Harry, after a moment as the blood rushed through his ears.

"Why he snogged you out of nowhere..." said Draco slowly. "...Without motivation. He's not what one would call spontaneous. Unpredictable, yes, but not spontaneous."

Harry stared at Draco, panicked.

"I—I—I don't see the reason why you have to _confront him_, confront him," gibbered Harry as he laughed. "I mean, he just snogged me, that's it. It's nothing serious like he wanted to seduce me or something! It was... just a... simple case of snogging a person you're not supposed to!"

"You're stuttering – that's a bad sign," observed Draco gravely, eyeing Harry up and down, clearly suspicious.

"I'm not stuttering, Draco," said Harry, as he took him by the shoulders. "Look. Don't worry. I put him in his place. He won't try to do that again. I nearly had him looking like what you looked like what you looked like on that train after you insulted Cedric. Just leave it."

"I don't want to leave it, Harry. I want to know why he jumped on my boyfriend, that's it," said Draco calmly. "Just admit you liked it, Harry."

Harry's breath left him in one go.

"Draco!" he laughed, as shrilly as he had in the sitting room in the morning.

"Or just maybe you snogged him first..." continued Draco slowly, his eyes narrowed at Harry. "Just admit it."

"I didn't snog him! He—he—he—he snogged me first!"

"And then you snogged him?"

Harry gazed at Draco like a puppy after being caught ripping electric cords and ravaging sandals and pooping on the ceramic. "Yes."

"You snogged him?" hissed Draco, suddenly swelling like a puffer fish.

"Blatant seduction!" called Harry feebly, parading a finger upwards as though he were some illuminate with unmatchable enlightenment.

"Seduction my pasty arse! You didn't stop him!"

"He was holding me – I could not get away from him!"

"And you're some defenceless seven-year-old invalid?"

"I don't appreciate you and Ron forgetting the fact that Blaise is huge compared to me!"

"He's not huge, he's just half a head taller than you!"

"Half a head? You're pulling my leg, right? And do you know how strong he is?"

"I wouldn't know because I haven't let him hold me like that!"

"That's unfair!" moaned Harry, actually stomping his foot on the floor.

"Unfair? What's unfair is you being _unfaithful _behind my back!"

The tone with which he said the word definitely convinced Harry it was Draco's ace – a prime weapon.

"I was not being unfaithful, Draco," said Harry, now serious, now deciding not to continue lying but starting to attempt the mitigation of the damage. "But he did take me by surprise. I'm not lying to you. He took me to this other kitchen I haven't seen before and put me on the counter-"

"Oh spare me the painful details!" cried Draco in a dramatically wounded voice.

"-And—and," continued Harry nervously, "and he just started doing his stuff, you know? He probably did it with all his girlfriends."

"And how the fuck would you know what he did with his girlfriends?"

"He just – out of nowhere – kissed me! Right there! And then—and then he kissed me again! I could not move away-!"

"Bollocks!"

"It's not bollocks, Draco!"

"Get the fuck out."

"What?"

"Get out! You're not sleeping in here, one thing's for sure!"

Harry stared at Draco, incredulous. "Draco-"

"Harry, you're going to get out of this room right now if you know what's good for you." And with that, Draco strode towards the bedside drawer; Harry promptly swept out of the room – he knew what was good for him was not a one-sided duel, and as unexceptionable as his looks were, he did not want them muddled.

After fleeing a potential crime scene, he landed in the sitting room, pacing around and around, his mind spinning. He slapped his forehead several times and paced some more. Ten minutes later he was worried about finding a place at which to sleep. He certainly could not return to the master bedroom.

A thought hit him immediately.

He weaved through the house and then hesitated to open the garden door, doing so only minutes later very carefully so that it did not grind noisily. The chill blasted him like the eye of a blizzard. The night was terribly dark, there were cricket croaks from ten different directions, but aside from that and the soft whooshing fountain of the Pond of Prosperity, nothing stirred at all. He knew Draco's den was very far from here; he would have to walk for at least about ten minutes, and that was scary alone at eight o'clock in the new face of a chilly winter. He felt horribly lonely and cold standing there in just his pants, bereft of his shirt and socks, as he had been ready to change into his nightwear to delve into the covers.

How colder could it be a few feet underground? Why oh why had he not mastered that Warming Charm Hermione always used on them? He simply could not brave the outside without his shirt and shoes – it was ludicrous. If the chill didn't kill him, the rugged terrain under his bare feet would.

As soon as he shut the door softly in front of his face, the only next logical step came to him.

And he certainly had no choice, unless he wished to sleep on the couch, but it was far too cold to do so; Draco could not expect him to do that.

Before he knew it he was knocking on Blaise's door.

He heard soft footsteps from beyond the door, which swung open a second later.

"Potter?" slurred Blaise, squinting and yawning and running a hand through his dark Italian hair.

"I need a place to sleep."

"And you came to me?" After a moment Blaise said, with another yawn, "Oh don't put that puppy-dog look – it always kills me. Come in..."

"I don't have a puppy-dog look," murmured Harry as he brushed past Blaise, who after shutting the door clicked his fingers to reignite a lantern hanging from the ceiling.

"Kicked you out, did he?" enquired Blaise. The amused wobble of his voice indicated that his somnolence was fading fast.

"He dragged it out of me," admitted Harry, as he stood there at the foot of the bed, nervous of approaching it any further even when Blaise gestured sweepingly towards it in invitation.

"You want to sleep on the floor? Suit yourself." He offered Harry one of his two blankets.

Harry kept still and quiet.

Noticing what he was doing, Blaise dropped his arm and stood there obligingly, waiting until Harry made up his mind.

"Move over," said Harry finally.

"That's my boy," said Blaise in satisfaction as he threw the blanket back on top of the other on the bed.

Harry threw him a dirty look.

"Just make sure to keep your hands to yourself," warned Harry. He took an odd compliment in having to warn Blaise about this. He knew Draco was hot for him, but Draco hid it perfectly and controlled himself strictly most of the time, whereas Blaise was deliberately showing it for Harry's torture or his own enjoyment or something other.

"It will be an uphill battle but I'll try," replied Blaise, wincing in mock disappointment. Harry tried to look anywhere else as Blaise slipped back into the covers, thereby concealing the expanses of smooth tanned olive skin on his naked torso and limbs, and burying away the silk navy Barmees, an article of underwear which to Harry appeared to be exclusive to those of high social standing. Draco had green silk Slytherin-green ones.

"Come on, baby boy, in you go," urged Blaise, as he tapped the space left for Harry on the other side of the bed. He put an arm behind his head, revealing sparse streaks of dark hair, and the posture also made his biceps bulge unwittingly. Blaise looked frighteningly sexy in that moment.

Harry cautiously picked up the sheets and slipped into them.

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"You're sleeping with your jeans on?" he asked.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Of course it wouldn't be uncomfortable," remarked Blaise, his voice carrying a light sarcasm.

"You have a problem with it?" asked Harry, as he heaved the blankets under his chin. He for one second indulged in the sight of Blaise's dark chocolaty nipple – and a pair of pale pink ones set into a rectangle of alabaster flashed across his eyes; his guilt built up all over again.

Blaise shrugged. "So how did you tell him?" he asked, even as he blinked slowly, his sleepiness starting to catch up with him.

"I think I'd like to sleep now, thanks," spat Harry, making a great show of turning his back on Blaise and pulling the covers over his shoulder, as though he were constructing an infallible blockade.

"Suit yourself," whispered Blaise. The yawn before these words indicated he had not planned to chat to Harry for long if at all, despite his earlier enquiry.

Harry forced his eyes to close. Moments later he heard a click of fingers and next second the light went out. He heard Blaise yawn again and turn over.

"He was going to come at you for answers," said Harry out of nowhere.

"Merlin," muttered Blaise in an annoyed, quiet voice which was not intended to be heard but ultimately was. "How did you go about it?"

And quite astonishingly, that is how Harry and Blaise started talking well into the night. Harry at one point did feel uncomfortable, because he talked with Draco like this as well sometimes. Nevertheless, they chatted some more, covering the quirky way in which Hermione had appropriated the library with that invisible barrier at the entrance, and even at another point Harry got to confessing that he had looked through Blaise's wallet, for want of a better word.

"You went through my stuff? I should swat your arse right now!" hissed Blaise. Harry felt him thrashing in the bed indignantly.

"Your mother looks very strict."

"Potter, you went through my stuff!"

"So what? You violated my personal space loads of times! Violating your privacy is my way of getting payback!"

"You slimy little runt!"

Harry was sure he had heard a laughing note in Blaise's voice.

"Yeah, well, hanging around Slytherins will make you that eventually."

There was an incredulous noise.

"What?"

"I never said anything," said Blaise, still fuming.

"Is your father a half-blood?" asked Harry.

"Watch your mouth, Potter," warned Blaise, after an awkward two seconds.

"There's nothing wrong with being a half-blood," replied Harry to the dark.

"You think so obviously because you're a half-blood yourself, Potter! My father was not a half-blood! What makes you think that?"

"Well that wallet-"

"That what?"

"That wallet with your money and the photo looked Muggle-like."

"That was not a '_wallet_'," said Blaise, sneering the word as though he were talking about a Flobberworm. "It was a pouch."

"Well whatever. It looked like a wallet to me. Definitely functions like one."

"Bottom line my father's not a half-blood-"

"Then his genes must be awfully weak 'cause you took a lot of stuff from your mums."

"Yeah, I've been told I look like her for I-don't-know-how-many times..."

Harry snorted.

"I also get that. 'Oh, Harry Potter, your eyes are so beautiful and green, just like your mother's!"

Blaise snorted back empathetically but then yawned slowly and widely from what Harry could hear. It took only a few seconds of silence between their replies for Blaise knock off, and he finally did as Harry asked him, "What was Draco like when he was younger?"

Harry looked aside and only saw darkness, denied a glimpse of Blaise; the curtains had been drawn shut. He deemed it safe to take off his jeans – they were uncomfortable to lie in, he admitted. Feeling rejected by Blaise in sleep, Harry turned his back on his still body and threw the covers over his head, trying to woo his own sleep to catch him. Harry never managed to catch it, and by that virtue did manage to catch a glimpse of Blaise's body as the light outside grew and intruded into the room. Blaise was sleeping with his body facing the ceiling, his head cast aside on the pillow, one leg straight, the other bent like a 4 shape, and strangely, his arms were crossed across his chest. Harry did not know of anybody who slept like this.

He could feel that he was tired and sleepy, yet even after another hour of toil he still could not sleep. He subsequently listened to Blaise getting ready for the day.

But then there was no noise from some several moments. Harry kept his eyes shut and his body still. A moment later the covers were being taken off him; he tried to look as natural as possible, so with his eyes shut he could not seen Blaise staring down at him, smirking mysteriously. Blaise shortly replaced the covers on him and went out of the room in what Harry was certain was his sure swagger.

He heard Blaise and Draco very faintly exchanging morning greetings. He threw off the covers and stared at the ceiling, gauging his exhaustion. After yawning, he lumbered out of bed, deciding to rather confront his fears than run away from them. He pulled on his jeans and walked out of the room. What exacerbated his trepidation of entering the sitting room was the fact that the day in which Draco had berated and nearly hexed him was not broken by his sleep, so it was just a seamless continuation into the next day, and perhaps that of Draco's anger towards him.

"Morning," mumbled Harry, hesitating as he took a seat next to Draco.

"Morning," Draco and Blaise greeted back.

"Had a good night's sleep?" asked Draco.

"Something like that," replied Harry noncommittally.

"From what I saw you hardly got any sleep at all," said Draco.

Harry turned to him.

"Put that Invisibility Cloak of yours to good use," said Draco with a smile. "At least you managed to have a good chat."

"That's-" began Harry, incredulous. _That's not fair...! _"Are you still mad at me?" he eventually asked.

"I wasn't mad at you to begin with – I just wanted to see how you'd react; I wanted to see if you would really admit it."

"...Oh," said Harry, after a moment, wondering if the world had flipped over several times.

"But, babes, please try to control yourself in future, yeah?" pled Draco. "I don't mind you having a little fun on the side, but do be considerate to your boyfriend."

"I promise, Draco," said Harry readily. He could not believe just how bright the day was shining then.

From then on, Draco had this way of opening himself up to Harry. He was usually a closed straight line of sinew and bone, but with Harry his legs would part and invite him and accept him, and Harry would busk in their company, in the feel of them on his thighs, of his legs on his thighs, of his groin on Draco's. They would smile between kisses. Even though Draco was playful in it all as though he took it as a game, Harry knew he enjoyed just as much as he did.

Draco and Harry reached an agreement regarding Blaise and his coming down on him.

"Blaise is not allowed to touch you without me around, okay?" Draco told Harry, shooting a glance at Blaise, who seemed the least perturbed about this.

"I was just trying to flatter the hero boy," he tossed at them carelessly.

"And you're supposed to grow a stronger backbone to resist him, okay?" Draco ordered Harry.

Harry clucked his tongue in annoyance. "I know how to control myself, Draco."

"Last time I checked that wasn't the case, _Harry_," admonished Draco severely. "As I see it, both of you are at fault."

As the days went by Hermione grew quieter and quieter, which only made Harry's worry for her mount. Meanwhile Ron was busy gifting Hermione weird things like mud houses, flowers he had picked up in the garden and made them somehow flash in different colours, morning in, morning out. Hermione accepted these with flat smiles merely. It came to a head when Ron threatened to kill himself by standing mere inches from the cliff if Hermione did not forgive him. Harry had only been more terrified in his life when he had faced Voldemort in the graveyard and when Draco had flung himself over that very cliff. This had brought Hermione out of her depression-like stupor, made her engage more in the issues surrounding them and resume sleeping in the same bed Ron did after an apparent stint in sleeping in the library for weeks.

The group was warming up to the idea of risking a return to Hogwarts again. After several days of intense discussion they decided that there was no other choice but to do so, again.

"We're going to need weapons," Blaise informed them.

"Are there any of those kinds of shops on Winox Lane?" Harry asked Draco.

"On the outskirts, yeah," replied Draco. "But it's not the serious, underground stuff like the Hand of Glory or something – it's a family-friendly place Winox Lane."

"How about my brothers' shop?" suggested Ron.

"_Weasleys'_ Wizarding Wheezes?" said Draco in disbelief, stressing the name to Ron's infuriation. "Ron, we don't need toys –we need actual weapons."

"Saved you and Harry from that werewolf back in Hogsmeade, didn't it?" muttered Ron in annoyance.

"I'm sorry but they aren't enough," Draco maintained, shaking his head. "We need the real deal this time; I have a feeling Voldemort's taking out all the stops this time."

"We can get some at Borgin and Burkes," suggested Blaise.

"Or Malik's Malice 'n Mania," added Ron, trying to save face.

Everyone's eye was on Harry when a shiver ran down his body; Malik's Malice 'n Mania was where the Slytherins had purchased that evil potion called Essence of Aphrodite.

"Time for some payback," said Draco, looking at Harry. "Malik's too it is."

"But who's going down to Knockturn Alley?" asked Ron.

"And You-Know-Who's people are probably trolling all of Hogsmeade and everywhere else," added Blaise. "You embarrassed him by escaping him yet again; I'd bet my wand he's looking for you like no-one's business."

"It's Voldemort," Harry told Blaise.

"Yes, him," replied Blaise, staring at Harry steadily.

"Don't call him You-Know-Who – his name is Voldemort."

Blaise looked at Draco to exchange one of their coded glances only to discover that Draco was staring back at him with the same expectation as Harry was. Blaise subsequently eyed Ron and Hermione as well, noticing they were equally expectant. Blaise swallowed.

"Voldemort," he said softly, after thirty seconds in which he realized that saying Voldemort's name was a ritual of sorts, like an initiation into the circle and confirmation of membership. As with the others before him, he winced as though expecting a panga to come careening at him to chop off his neck.

Harry nodded in satisfaction. "And I'll be going down to Knockturn."

"Pfft. You don't know your way around it," scoffed Draco. "I'll go."

"Of course you're not going, Draco," said Harry strictly.

"Oh back to that hero thing again, are we?" muttered Blaise in disgust.

"Yes, I'm back on my hero bullshit," said Harry. "And Draco's not going anywhere."

"I can take care of myself, you know! I'll go under your Invisibility Cloak. You wouldn't even know where to start!"

"Let me make this clear: the only time you're getting out of this house is when we go back to Hogwarts. Is that clear, Draco?"

"...Yes, sir."

"Oh, Merlin. Harry's going to take out his whips and chains, everyone," warned Blaise, and they all laughed.

"Okay, so it's weapon-hunting first – I'll make sure to cover Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes too-" He shared a smile with Ron. "-and then off to Hogsmeade. But who knows what's happening there..."

"Hm," agreed Hermione. "I think the Carrows will be holding it together with an iron fist, if what Neville said to us is anything to go by."

"We'll have to sneak in somehow," said Harry. "I think more Invisibility Cloaks and Disillusionment Charms are in order, don't you think, Hermione?"

"Too right you are, Harry," replied Hermione.

All the while they were practicing Apparition and becoming Animagi. The breakthroughs came only just over a month later when Hermione screamed in delight after she travelled from inside the house to near the Pond of Prosperity. Harry was really proud of her and at how she was picking herself up.

Hermione finally put Ron out of his misery and told him he could stop making stupid gifts for her. Blaise lost all interest in Harry primarily because Draco's conditions had made his advances on Harry acceptable, where he relished doings things in secrecy or acting in defiance.

"Here," said Hermione one day, handing Harry a chequered kilt-like spacious bag complete with golden purse-like clasps.

"Where did you get that?" asked Draco in shock and anger.

"I found it around the house," answered Hermione. She turned back to Harry and told him, "I magicked it so you can stuff it with as many things as you like."

"That isn't yours to temper with!" berated Draco, wagging his finger.

"I don't know, Hermione," began Harry, his upper lip curling back at the handbag. Was not there any other bag she could have given him that did not look like a grandmother's?

Hermione eventually had her way, and the next thing Harry knew he was waving goodbye and Apparating back to Winox Lane, after which he would go to Knockturn Alley.

When Harry came back he was spitting blood on the floor of the foyer.

"They nearly caught me; some women stepped on my Cloak. They poured me with some stuff to counter my Disillusionment Charm."

Hermione tried her best to heal Harry's wounds and the scratches which he acquired when he was trying to escape Voldemort's henchmen. Blaise pushed the single-seater couch in front of the fireplace for Harry while Hermione wrapped him in a blanket. Tibby gave him a super-large cup of chocolate milk with marshmallows bobbing in it.

"Well you were right," Harry told Ron, Blaise, Draco, and Hermione, all of whom were hanging around him and onto his every word. "Voldemort got it locked nice and tight everywhere I went; the Wizarding world is not free. There's even a curfew and stuff. People weren't even talking when they were shopping; it was just unnatural the whole thing. They can't keep living like this..."

"Wow..." breathed Ron sombrely, as Harry sipped his hot chocolate.

"Couldn't go to Weasleys'," whispered Harry, shivering hard. "But I managed to steal a Once-Off Owl under my Invisibility Cloak. I sent it to Neville with instructions to gear up and the steps of Apparating and transforming into an Animagus. I told him they needed to prepare for war for themselves too and also give a way for us to get inside Hogwarts."

"But then how's he going to send you back a way into Hogwarts?" asked Hermione quickly.

Harry's lip pulled sideways. "Didn't think about that..."

Hermione growled and threw her hands up in the air. "Should've just gone there myself!" She glared at Harry but then moaned, "Oh, Harry!" and threw herself into his lap, reassessing his wounds and giving him a sympathetic kiss on the cheek; Ron frowned petulantly.

Though Harry's excursion offered them a valuable glimpse of the state of things, his coming back bloodied and bruised as he was shook their spirits, but the fact that Voldemort was going after beloved Hogwarts stiffened their resolve. They worked harder to perfect their Apparition abilities, and even all of them managed to master becoming Animagi. Needless to say their forms sparked a lot of jeers and banter and conversation.

"I hope Voldemort gets your point!" Harry laughed, pointing at Draco, who swiftly turned back to human and sulked.

Just then Harry caught a flash of white with the corner of his eye at the same time as Draco frowned and strode forward. Blaise, Ron, and Hermione were oblivious in insulting each other's Animagus form. Banter looked and sounded very weird when the participants were talking and laughing animals.

Draco trotted towards something that was fluttering over the cliff downwards, Harry on his heels.

"Draco, don't get too near," advised Harry.

Draco set himself up under the fluttering flash, his arms swaying with its path.

"What is it?" asked Hermione.

"Don't know," replied Draco, looking upwards, stretching out his arms. "Looks like a... a piece of light... crazy as it might sound..."

"A piece of light?" said Ron sceptically, folding his arms.

The thing that was coming down towards them was turning and fluttering and tumbling in such a way that neither of them could focus their eyes on it properly. As soon Harry thought he had fixed it with his eye and was seeing it, it turned like a feather and presented a blurry side of it. It was not until Draco finally had it in his hands that they could see what it was. The object did not lie directly on Draco's hands but sort of floated on top of them by mere millimetres. It seemed to be a thin sheet of light until there was another flash and the next second an envelope was resting in Draco's hands.

"What the-?" began Hermione.

"Looks like a letter," observed Blaise, peering into Draco's hands.

"But isn't this place Unplottable? How did it find here?" asked Harry.

Draco shook his head, stunned. He tried to open it.

"Wait!" said Harry, grabbing the envelope. "What if it's dangerous?"

"Merlin, Harry," murmured Blaise angrily, after muttering a prayer to Merlin to give him patience. He swiped his hand across Harry's to collect the envelope. "I'll open it then. Your over-protectiveness was cute before but it's really starting to annoy me."

Harry blushed unrepentantly.

They all watched as Blaise opened the envelope, unfolded the parchment therein, and listened as he read aloud. After that, Draco, clearly impressed, said, "My my, Neville. Never thought I'd see the day Neville pulled off something like this..."

"Yes," agreed Hermione. "It's brilliant, but—but-" she said nervously. "-it's not something Neville would be capable of doing, yeah?" She blushed, but her lack of faith in Neville was defendable. "I mean, he wasn't the brightest or the most confident of people-"

"I think he had help from a certain portrait," said Harry, at whom they all promptly stared.

"Oh yeah," said Ron suddenly. "Remember he did know how to get into the Headmaster's-"

"Headmistress," corrected Hermione, clearing her throat proudly.

"Yes, sorry. The _Headmistress's_ office. Wouldn't expect it from Neville!"

"As impressive as it is," began Blaise, "it still looks like it would take a miracle for it to work."

"We escaped Voldemort again, didn't we?" said Harry. "We specialize in miracles, Blaise."

"Can't argue with that," said Blaise, smiling.

It was an ingenious means of communication which they did not completely know how it worked. They exchanged information with Neville this way. Sometimes the 'letter' would be drowned in well wishes and messages from the other Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs which were in Dumbledore's Army. There were also status updates on their preparations and what was going on around Hogwarts. The bad news was that the situation was getting worse; the teachers were being replaced with Voldemort's people on a daily basis, and these new 'teachers' were taking to administering torture behind the flimsy veil of formalities.

The most shocking news they heard from Hogwarts was that some of the Slytherins students had secretly defected and joined Dumbledore's Army, which was now led by Neville. This news seemed to brighten Draco's and Blaise's faces much; it proved that not all Slytherins were all that bad and were mindless puppets.

They learned through their correspondence with Neville that Voldemort never visited Hogwarts personally, but his Death Eaters made regular stops there to check on things. Additionally, there was a corpse that looked remarkably like Snape that was physically gliding and flying around the castle, warning students against conspiring against the Dark Lord and forcing them to head back indoors if they were strolling around. They called this wraith-like wanderer 'Snag' – a combination of 'Snape' and a 'hag'. Neville told them Peeves did not much like Snag.

But the dreaded message finally came on the last day of November.

_They're expecting Voldemort tonight._

And all too soon and not-so-too-soon Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, and Blaise found themselves creeping across Hogsmeade under their Invisibility Cloaks.


	16. Poised for Peril

**Chapter 16**

**Poised for Peril**

"Um, refresh my memory here," whispered Draco under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. "We're looking for a bar, and the owner of this bar is going to sneak us into Hogwarts, is he?"

"You make it sound stupid like that," complained Harry quietly under a copy Cloak. Hermione had broken into tears and declared him as the most loving person on the planet for giving his infallible Invisibility Cloak to Draco. She had swiftly turned on Ron and yelled why he could not be as heroic as his friend was.

"Well that's because it _is_ stupid!" whispered Draco, under the moonlight.

"It doesn't matter if it's stupid or not!" whispered Ron. "It'll get us through, won't it?"

This ended the argument.

"I still can't believe Dumbledore had a brother all this time and never told us," remarked Hermione, her voice slightly wounded. "Let alone that he was a barkeeper of all things to be." They drew into an open area, a cross section of four roads that made Harry uneasy, as they could not hug any walls closely.

"Harry, what was in that vial in your bag?" whispered Draco.

Harry shushed him.

"Don't shush me!" protested Draco.

"A what?"

"That vial in your bag. What was it? I saw it when I was taking out your Invisibility Cloak."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"It looked like it had a memo-!"

_POP! POP! POP!__ POP! POP! _

"Did you hear something?" enquired a dark-cloaked figure which had Apparated along with five more others mere inches from Harry and friends, who froze, their hearts pumping on overdrive in their chests.

"Definitely did," burbled another Death Eater.

"Shower them?" asked yet another Death Eater who sounded like Warrington.

The Death Eaters nodded together before making spells rain down on the open area. Another Death Eater summoned a typhoon of sorts that tried to whip off their Invisibility Cloaks but to which they held onto for dear life. Harry had no other choice but to raise his voice and shout, "Run west!" And hoping they had heard and understood him, Harry threw caution to the wind and started pounding the ground westward along a street heading towards Hogwarts. Luckily the Death Eaters could not see his feet as he and the others were also under an advanced Disillusionment Charm and so could risk running upright.

"GET THEM!" shouted a Death Eater. "THEY'RE GOING THAT WAY!"

Several doors opened and a few heads peeked out to investigate the noise but swiftly shut their doors at the incoming spells.

More hexes were shot at them from behind as they took off. Unfortunately the sound of their feet pummelling the ground designated their direction, so it was not a surprise that there was a scream the next second. Harry turned to see dust rising from the floor. Judging by the scream's shrillness, he thought it was Hermione who had bit the dust.

"Hermione!"

A huge blond Death Eater was firing spell after spell at thin air to try to catch them out. And he was dealing out a whole lot of damage to the surrounding house and pubs.

"_ACCIO RON'S, BLAISE'S, HARRY'S, AND DRACO'S BROOMS!_"

Harry was clearly not thinking if he thought he could Summon four brooms from hundreds of kilometres away. He ran over to Hermione and tried to drag her off the ground, but the rising dust was indicative of their location, hence there promptly was a spell shot their way and the next thing Harry's cloak burst into flames. With a yell of surprise he threw it off him and thought he at least still had the Disillusionment Charm working for him, with the exception that it shimmered slightly if he moved.

"_Crucio!_" shouted a Death Eater who was fast approaching their general location. Harry pushed Hermione away just in time to let the spell scamper away safely.

"Let's go!" he shouted at everyone amidst the noises and lights of the Death Eaters' curses.

"Summon him!" roared a Death Eater from behind Harry and Hermione. Harry could hear Ron, Draco, and Blaise running pell-mell in front of them.

"Summon the Dark Lord?" asked another Death Eater, whose voice was unfamiliar to Harry and which had a tremor in it.

"YES, RILEY!" the Death Eater roared back. "You ain't scared, is you, _newbie_?"

Harry heard a familiar voice chortling – Mitchell Fauss.

Harry stole a glance behind his shoulder to see Death Eaters running ahead of another who had stopped to pull up his sleeve and, his arms shaking badly, pressed his wrist like a button, and ice stole across Harry's body as a current ran across the air of Hogsmeade – a long, soft hiss like a blaring horn from miles away, like the distant roar of a rousing monster… Next to Harry Hermione screamed, causing Harry's heart to catch in his throat, but he found nothing next to Hermione, who must have been freaked out by the sibilant caress floating upon the air, stroking her across her body.

"You dare summon me. A reason perhaps?" said a quiet, bodiless voice. Ron and Blaise skidded to a halt, pumping dust into the air. When it cleared Harry could see Ron and Blaise as plainly as day under the moonlight. And towering in front of them, with that mild expression again that concealed his atrocious capabilities, was Lord Voldemort.

"One short," observed Voldemort quietly, as his eyes fixed on a point beyond Ron and Blaise. Harry and Hermione shuffled between Voldemort and the Death Eaters behind them, but Harry knew they had no chance. Voldemort raised his wand – a flash of red – and then Ron and Blaise were yelling and falling to the ground. "Give me Potter," commanded Voldemort.

"He's not here!" said Draco's voice.

"Oh is that you, dainty Draco?" cooed Voldemort, looking around, his expression hopeful.

"It's just us three!" said Draco.

"Forgive me, young Draco, if I find that hard to believe," returned Voldemort, still looking around. And then Harry's heart stopped when Voldemort's scarlet slits somehow landed directly on his green ones. "Rowle, just in front of you to the left."

"_Crucio!_"

Hermione dived in front of Harry and started screaming as loudly as she had never before. It made the sight all the more eerie when Harry could not see her but the sand on the floor moving about and the dust unsettling as she thrashed. Neville's message had come too soon – they had not practiced side-along Apparition, so Harry could not dare risk it. Apart from that, he could not leave the others behind, so he stood there staring at an invisible Hermione, torn. But he geared into action when Hermione's torturer tried to approach her – he raised his wand and shouted, "_Expelliarmus!_" The Death Eater's wand flew into the air and landed somewhere behind him. He had no interest to catch a wand that had committed a thousand evils. Hermione stopped screaming and started spluttering her lunch.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are, Potter!" sang Fauss, his eyes prowling the scene here and there.

Meanwhile, Voldemort was still searching for Draco, stalking about and casting a random spell here and there.

"My pretty catamite, the time for games is over," Voldemort was saying. "I have decided you will have to stay by my side – I cannot have my ties to immortality running amok as I have let you in the past. We simply must start settling down!" Voldemort gave his cold, high laughter at this. "_Tortus!_" he shouted at a spot on the ground, and judging by the absence of a scream, he had missed once again. "I suspect… I suspect Potter's Cloak's doing here, yes… Yes, you've concealed yourself with something superior, other than a flimsy replica, yes? I cannot sense you out… But not matter. Ingenuity I can crush, just as I crushed Dumbledore. It won't take long to fish you out, dear Draco. When I catch you I will catch you. And you will be ensnared in a world of pain as you have never felt before. I don't think I've yet to torture anyone with this wand." Voldemort jerked suddenly – startling Draco – there was a flash of deepest orange, and then Draco was surely going to rip his lungs to shreds as he screamed for all he was worth.

But then there came a whistling noise, high upon the air. There were flashes of black and green, Death Eaters somersaulting and crashing to the floor, and in no time four brooms were humming loudly in front of Harry.

"Summon your brooms!" bellowed Harry, as he cast a spell towards Voldemort, who saw it and sent it careening the other way. Consequently, his Tortus spell on Draco ended as he aimed a curse at Harry, who climbed his Firebolt and helped Hermione on it. They took off and sailed ahead of the approaching Death Eaters, one of whom, Mitchell Fauss, appeared terribly passion of catching him, perhaps even settling an old score.

Voldemort suddenly gave that mechanical shriek like a roaring metal dragon; Harry's broom squeaked as its nose came up almost perpendicularly to nearly dislodge him and Hermione. Ron and Blaise were flung backwards together with the other Death Eaters and came crashing to the ground amidst swirling dust. They quickly came to their feet, summoned their brooms, and blasted off the ground. No one knew where Draco was, not even Harry or Voldemort.

"You will not make a fool of me again, Potter!" shrieked Voldemort, his eyes blazing scarlet in the evening. Two seconds later they were all that was left as Voldemort's body had disintegrated into a mass of smoke that shot up towards Harry and Hermione.

"Kill the spares!" hollered Voldemort.

"With pleasure, My Lord!" said Fauss with emotion, as he and his fellow Death Eaters started shooting spells at the brooms flying around them, but they were simply out-flown by the Nimbus brooms.

With steely determination, Harry lay right on top of his Firebolt to streamline himself so he could cut through the air faster. His eyes were fixed on those lit turrets upon turrets of the Hogwarts castle. Ahead of him, Ron and Blaise were weaving about randomly to try to confuse the Death Eaters—A flash of green; without knowing where it was coming from or where it was going, Harry veered instinctively, seeing the spell just missing his elbow, shooting through the evening air. He turned behind him to see Voldemort streaking towards him, a mere form of a shooting star with two scarlet eyes. Part of the smoke protruded to form a ghost limb that sent another green spell flying at Harry, who had to swerve before he hurtled onward.

Below them, the Death Eaters were scrambling to find brooms, and the ones they did find – bar booms – were no competition for the Nimbus brooms and Harry's Firebolt. Harry was certain Fauss was remembering that moment where he confiscated those very brooms from them.

There was a pack of birds squalling as they flew ahead. Harry turned his head back just in time to see Voldemort ascend the sky. His smoky form disappeared as one of the birds in the pack turned red-eyed and veered from the formation and shot towards Harry.

"Oh you fuckin' shitting me!" growled Harry. Voldemort was possessing animals now? He pushed his Firebolt for more steam. They were soon travelling so fast he could feel Hermione's grip slipping from his torso. As soon as he heard the familiar-sounding blast, he turned again to see another green streak shoot just inches past him. Hermione screamed as she lost her grip on him and flailed towards the earth; Harry pushed his broom downwards and caught her before she could crash. Unfortunately Voldemort had caught up and was now parallel to them. The burning scarlet slits were narrowed as they cut through the air, the wispy head and tail waving and flapping like a windsock. A ghost arm rose again and another Killing Curse blasted out of a free-floating wand. Harry did a Wronsky Feint but Voldemort was not fooled and continued soaring forward.

Hogwarts was just in reach, and the Death Eaters were nowhere to be seen. But a sudden barrage of spells as he flew through Hogwarts' vicinity told him that the Death Eaters had Apparated at the perimeter. But he dodged the spells easily. His muscles were getting a beating, however, and he knew he would not be able to hold off Voldemort for much longer, especially with Hermione's weight behind him. He wished Draco was safe wherever he was and that Ron and Blaise had arrived at Hogwarts safely.

Voldemort hurled another deafening shriek at Harry – the sound like a car crash; Harry growled as he and Hermione lost their bearings and as the stars mingled into a blur and as the brown of the ground flashed around them and as the lights from Hogwarts' windows became a single effect of yellow. But then suddenly there was a loud screech. Harry tried to stabilize himself and Hermione, thinking he spotted something pearly white other than Voldemort, who was bearing down on them, a relentless predator.

Hermione holding onto him fiercely, Harry regained control of his Firebolt and steadied it just before they could land into the pointy rails of the Hogwarts school gate. But Harry saw Voldemort hurtling down on them from above. Then there was another white streak coming down from behind the smoky blur that was Voldemort. The streak screeched and then Harry saw Hedwig flap her wings ferociously at Voldemort, whose already flimsy form was nearly cast asunder to mix with the air.

"Hedwig!" shouted Harry in chastisement, as he pushed his broom forward. "Hold on, Hermione!" And he accelerated forward again. He heard Voldemort growl, saw a flash of white with the corner of his eye, and then Voldemort was right on his tail again, Hedwig on full course behind him. Before he knew it something brown whooshed past him, nearly making him lose control of the broom. He heard Voldemort roar in fury again and saw Hedwig and Dragonfly working together to slap Voldemort about. Unable to tear his eyes away from the action, Harry watched with his neck twisted behind him to see Voldemort suddenly pull back, slash his wand through the air like a sword, and Dragonfly tumbling to the ground. Hedwig, acting very intelligently for an owl, squeaked and tried to escape. Tearing his eyes away from Dragonfly's lifeless descent, Harry turned his head back and flew over the Great Lake.

He felt his fear and Hermione's scream before he even saw Voldemort above them. A flash of green-

Hermione jerked so fearfully the broom veered again just in time, almost upsetting them both. Harry re-strengthened his grip on his Firebolt and thrust himself even flatter against it.

"Mine, Potter!" yelled Voldemort, before he let out another of those devastating shrieks, sending Harry's brooms spinning out of control. And again as the earth and the sky became a single colour in front of Harry's eyes, a mixture of brightest green told him someone between him and Hermione were going to be no more… He tried futilely to control the broom, and, just in time, saw the green streak right in front of his eyes. There was a strip of white from the left flew across and intercepted the spell. Harry watched as Hedwig fell past him towards the Great Lake, her wings flightless.

"Ha," breathed Harry, his chest suddenly concrete. Nothing cushioned his and Hermione's fall as they crashed into the ground just after Harry heard the _DUNK!_ of Hedwig landing into the Great Lake.

In terrified anticipation that some of his bones were broken, Harry gingerly attempted to untangle himself from Hermione and sit up, thinking he had heard Hagrid's voice, but Voldemort was still racing through the air, coming down on them, to Harry the picture looking something like heaven's unleashed punishment for his daring to love unnaturally as he did Draco.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

"_Antimalemordre!_" bellowed Harry, as he swung his wand wildly before he could even catch his breath or get on his feet. To the uninvolved eye, time seemed to slow down in the space that encapsulated Harry and Voldemort. A brilliant white dome-like shield expanded from Harry's wand; Voldemort's Killing Curse ricocheted off, forcing Voldemort to duck out of the way.

Immediately after there were loud grumbles coming from all directions of the air like roaring jet engines. But Harry was keeping his eye steady on Voldemort.

"Let them come!" spat Voldemort, grinning victoriously for some reason. "Let them come! Let's match the might of Lord Voldemort against that of Harry Potter and his groupies! COME, MY BIG FRIENDS!"

"Harry, Merlin's teapot, ye al'ight!" cried Hagrid, who had emerged from his hut mere seconds earlier.

"I'm okay, Hagrid!" Harry shouted back.

Then there were the sound of children nearby. More lights were turned on from inside the castle. Behind him, Harry heard the surface of the Great Lake bubbling just before there was a low, deep blare like a ship, but in fact it had come from the sea monster; Harry knew he would never see Hedwig again.

Hermione came onto her feet, spitting grass out her mouth.

The Death Eaters Apparated in a perfect arc behind the shooting-star-like form that was Voldemort.

"But, wait. You can't Apparated inside-" began Hermione, whispering to herself, looking the consummate nerd driven to near-madness by his own academic obsessions. But then, in realization, Hermione continued, "Oh yes. Dumbledore…"

"Oi, hang on!" shouted Hagrid, clearly indignant that Death Eaters thought they could just appear out of nowhere uninvited. "Ye ain't welcome here!"

"Hermione!" called Ron. He and Blaise ditched their broom and loped towards them, only to be sent flying the other way courtesy of Rowle's spell.

"Ron!" shouted Hermione, tears brimming. "Blaise!"

"No, Hermione!" said Harry, holding her back, his eye on Voldemort.

"Gimme the Weasley, My Lord!" shouted Fauss. Either Voldemort ignored or did not hear him.

There were the sounds of peddling slippers, and in no time what looked like the whole of Hogwarts Castle had spilled out in front of the Entrance Hall and stood staring at what was happening on the grounds, pyjama-clad and pointing and murmuring.

"I couldn't have done it any better myself, Potter!" stated Voldemort in his high, clear voice that cut the air like a swing of a sword. It carried clearly and harshly over to the students. "Drawing innocent lives out into the open so effortlessly; I should learn from you."

"Oi, get back to the castle, you lot!" berated Hagrid, as he lumbered towards the children, who moved not an inch towards the entrance doors.

Harry watched the mass at the mouth of the great doors to see some of his friends from Dumbledore's Army at the forefront, and the rest of the students behind them. He could also spot a few teachers littering the flanks of the crowds, including Professor Moody – who appeared anguished in being so helpless, Professor McGonagall – who was carrying Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout standing next to her – her eyes visibly widened to resemble her wild tulips, and a few other teachers who had probably been fired and were merely residing in the castle. Harry could bet a few more of them had been shown the doors.

"What's going on here, little gremlins?" questioned someone as they appeared from the Entrance Hall. Wearing dark clothes and looking a little obese, the person, followed by other figures who Harry guessed must be the new 'teachers', hobbled through the crowd, pushed aside Professor McGonagall roughly, and scanned the professors' and kids' faces before he and his companions laid their eyes on the ring of Death Eaters ahead of him, whereupon they seemed to experience a collective heart attack.

"Is—is—is he here? Is this a gathering?" gulped the first man, looking around wildly at his companions. He looked close to slumping on the ground, ready to grovel at his master's feet.

"It will do for a just stage, won't it, Potter?" said Voldemort. "Finally those who look up to your image will see it slain right before their eyes. One does get tired of losing after a while, so I took steps to make sure you would not slip through my fingers this time, Potter. As of this moment-" The ground trembled and the air shivered slightly. "-you will not be able to leave Hogwarts. We duel to the death." The ground trembled once more; Voldemort looked over Harry's head. "And they draw nearer… You don't have much time, Potter. How about you throw your final spell? Death Eaters, when you find that lovely little thing by the name of Draco you will take him to the Grand Hall." There were murmurs of agreement from behind Voldemort. "Oh yes, Potter. This is my school – my names. Now, I wouldn't terribly mind if your Mudblood friend gave you a little hand – it would make not the slightest difference."

Harry heard the ground rumble some more. He raised his wand, but then there was a shower of arrows raining down on the Death Eaters, who exclaimed with obscenities and Disapparated, Apparating back moments later. The herd of centaurs that had just made itself visible at the mouth of the Forbidden Forest turned tail, their loud clobbering hooves fading.

Voldemort transformed back into his corporeal self in front of everyone, whereupon Hagrid yelped and the dark-cloaked teachers standing in front of the crowd starting muttering incredulously and voicing their highest praises and could not decide whether to crawl nearer towards Voldemort or stay bowing in obedience. Eventually they joined the other Death Eaters, exchanging notes about Voldemort's grown powers and appearance. Meanwhile, Ron and Blaise took the opportunity to retreat towards the professors and students.

"Blimey, that's him that!" Hagrid point out, with a tremor in his voice, painfully obvious.

"Let Hermione go," ordered Harry loudly, wishing to keep the attention away from Hagrid, and Hagrid's glaring size simply was not helping.

"Why would I do that, Potter?" asked Voldemort, blinking in a cat-like way with those scarlet slits.

"She's got nothing to do with this – with all of this – it's between you and me."

Voldemort raised a pair of invisible eyebrow, as there was no trace of hair on his fluorescent face. He swept his arm graciously. "I would not say it was just between the two of you, but by all means…"

"Don't ye trus' that snake, Harry, don't you dare!" advised Hagrid, shuffling about nervously in front of the professors, who shushed him severely, clearly terrified of attracting Voldemort's attention.

But Harry's eyes had already narrowed. He just knew Hermione would not make it alive to Ron and the others, and Hagrid was thinking along the same lines. Fortunately at that moment Hermione squeaked as something took hold of her before she disappeared. Harry spun around in panic with his mouth hanging open, only a moment later to hear a voice: "I'll take her." He knew every decibel of that voice, very well. So now unfretted, he turned his attention back on Voldemort, whose eyes were now narrowed.

"Death Eaters, I think I gave you a job to do..." Voldemort said in a high, bone-chillingly rising voice, like a mother sweetly chiding her toddler, but behind the sweet lilt of her voice, there was a stern warning.

After scrambling around for their wits, the Death Eaters started shooting spells at open air. Harry trusted Draco, being a Slytherin, and being Draco Malfoy, to be very agile and slippery through it.

"Oi!" shouted Hagrid. "Tha' no' very kind, ye know!" And his umbrella wand came into action.

Meanwhile, using the distracting noise and spell-light from his Death Eaters' hunt for Draco and Hermione, Voldemort rose from the ground and yelled, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Not fooled, as he had kept his eye on Voldemort, Harry raised his wand and shouted, "_Expelliarmus!_"

There was a great clash of _BOOOSH!_ A sphere of light burst into life from the middle of green and while spells.

"A Disarmament Charm, Potter?" sneered Voldemort over the roar of the spells as he floated on air. "Oh do be a bit more serious than that!" And he growled as he thrust his energies into his Killing Curse, sending the sizzling sphere of light towards Harry, who felt a wave of unbearable heat hit through his arm and body. His heels dug back into the ground; Voldemort's force was pushing him towards the Great Lake.

Voldemort rose higher in the air, nearing Harry all the time, overpowering him, until Harry was on his feet and Voldemort was directly above him, channelling the spells and the sphere down directly towards him like lightning. It took just another of Voldemort's growl that thrust another wave of energy down the linked spells to push the sphere even closer to Harry and make him yell in pain as he felt his wand vibrate uncontrollably. Harry swayed and heaved his whole arm to one side, breaking the connection and landing into the ground, breathing in the grass deeply. He quickly spun onto his back to see Voldemort aim a Killing Curse at him; he sprung away from the ground just in time, the ground where the spell struck lurching in the air in pieces of grass and earth, leaving a crater.

Running on his very last reserves of energy, Harry with effort swung his arm upwards and yelled, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Still roaming above like a satellite, Voldemort was taken by surprise at first but recovered swiftly with his own Killing Curse. The spells met in mid-air and gave rise to a black nothingness, just as they had two months ago. The vortex grew and grew and grew until the banks of the Great Lake started quivering, its surface rippling as it seemed to pull upwards like an obscene protrusion, being sucked in by the vortex.

There was a shout, sounding oddly like Ron's voice, of, "ATTACK!"

Then a wave of students rushed forward, wielding spells and wands at the throng of Death Eaters. The two groups immediately began duelling furiously, each and every Death Eater and student understanding they were fighting for their lives. There were bright, colourful explosions clearly courtesy of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. After a moment of hesitation and confusion, Professor McGonagall summoned the other professors, whipped out her wand with a speed unbecoming of an old lady, and screamed, "CHARGE, FELLOW COMRADES! CHARGE!"

Some yards away, with a noise of impatience, Voldemort plunged his free hand into his robes, produced another wand, and as he held onto the other, shouted, "_AVADA KEDAVRA!_" And Harry knew he was in trouble with two wands aiming two Killing Curses on him with insufficient energy to muster another anti-Killing Curse protective shield…

"AAAAHHHH!" he screamed in agony, as the wand in his hand shattered into a hundred pieces and as one of the wands in Voldemort's hand shot out of his hand, flipped through the air, and directed its Killing Curse back on him…

Voldemort swung his other wand at the Killing Curse, but the spell could not overcome the superiority of an Unforgivable… But before the curse could strike him, Voldemort blasted apart into a thousand different directions, becoming his mist-like form. The Killing Curse shot through him and struck the ground behind, sparking a fire.

As the tears rolled down Harry's cheeks, the airborne wand sailed down towards the ground. Barely with any feeling left in his blistered hand, Harry kept it outstretched and felt the dropping wand land into it perfectly as though it belonged there. A power surged through his arm, so forceful it seemed to pick him up onto his feet.

"Why does something always has to happen for you, Potter?" snarled Voldemort, as he turned back into his solid self. He steadied himself after looking a little faint, and aimed another spell at Harry, who, given new energy, repelled the Killing Curse with its special counter, seemingly stopping time again for an indeterminate duration.

"Since when did righteous Potter embrace Dark Magic?" questioned Voldemort, as time sped onward again. He was panting as he squinted at Harry from above the ground still. "I daresay that is not an ordinary spell that one finds in the restricted section."

"I decided I needed to fight fire with fire!" shouted Harry, raising his wand.

"And you've handed your soul over to the Dark side in the process," observed Voldemort. "Dumbledore would be so proud!"

"I see no Light and Dark side, Voldemort!" said Harry. "All I know is that after causing everything you did to Draco I would do anything to see you die!"

"Ah… and there it is!" cooed Voldemort, his eyes widening jeeringly. "It's so simple now that I ponder upon it! It was only that which could have drawn pure-white Harry Potter into the Darkest of Arts …The unreasonableness of… love… Am I correct?"

"Yeah, you are!" replied Harry. "But you've never felt love, have you, Tom?"

Even from where he stood, he could see Voldemort's eyes widen in disbelief. With a furious growl, Voldemort opened his mouth out wide and stuck out his tongue. There was a whistling, sucking noise, and then a great jet of fire sprouted from his mouth, and grew, and grew, and grew until it was all Harry could see...

"Merlin's tulips!" squeaked Hagrid, backpedalling in awe and knocking over a few people, luckily Death Eaters.

The fire churned and twisted and roared until finally a head could be distinguished – the head of an enormous serpent the size of ten dragons. With the deafening roar and firepower of that many dragons, it recoiled and then descended upon Harry, who just stared up at the image of his doom, the blazing white-hot fire reflected in his beautiful green eyes, his face washed in a suspended glow of disbelief and concession; he simply could not fight something so huge and so hot…

The wand in his hand spun on its own accord, and as a spirit rose inside Harry, with the soothing deep vibrations of the ghost of his beloved mentor, Harry's voice rose from within him, was thrust out of his lungs by a force not of his own doing, and in a moment the wand in his hand was pointing towards the Great Lake, and he was shouting, "_ACCIOMALGAMACCIO LAKE!_"

Despite themselves, the Death Eaters, Dumbledore's Army, the professors, and the other students turned towards Voldemort and Harry, stopped duelling, and watched as the Great Lake literally rose, twisting and protruding out of the bowl of the earth like a giant water leviathan. A few hundred jaws dropped and clattered to the ground.

The Great Lake intercepted Voldemort's giant fire snake, wiping the snake from the air and sizzling as it turned into steam and rose into the air. A white marble coffin could be seen hovering inside the crater where the lake should be. There was another sucking, whistling noise as Voldemort opened his mouth, breathing life into another giant snake of crimson and golden fire. Harry, feeling the weight of the entire Great Lake in his hand but obviously not really feeling it, however impossible it all was, started spinning his arm just as he did two months ago with the rope of fire. And as impossibly as it looked, yet there was no rubbing their eyes to refresh their ludicrous vision, there was a tornado of water twisting and whirling around Harry Potter, Voldemort watching on as his fiery snake was one again turned into steam. Voldemort produced more giant fire snakes, but each perished like the ones before them.

Voldemort shrieked that shriek that sounded like a car accident, a crushing-metal-like noise that upset the whirlpool and made it wobble and splutter apart, drenching the ground and partly seeping back into the crater-like bowl set deep into the earth in which it should be resting.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_" thundered Voldemort. Brilliant green light blasted out from his wand and sliced through the air towards Harry.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_" roared Harry back, matching Voldemort as their spells collided once more.

Voldemort growled and swung his wand before the vortex could emerge. He was jerking left and right, his body singing with fury and impatience, frustrated he could not kill Harry. He was visibly getting desperate, and a desperate Voldemort did not make for a delightful date.

"COME, MY GIANTS! WEREWOLVES, I CALL YOU TO ME! SLAY THEM ALL! RIP AND SHRED AND STOMP AND CRUSH THEM TO THEIR DEATHS! DON'T JUST STAND THERE AND GAWK, YOU IMBECILES! TEAR THEIR SOULS APART! _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ YOU _WILL_ DIE, POTTER!"

And Harry and Voldemort were in sudden death, locked in battle.

There was so much noise around them. The giants had finally trudged the distance and were stomping their way through Hogsmeade, decimating houses and churches and crushing trees and defacing public spaces as they went. Hagrid was busy shouting over and over again, something like, "Gettem, Grawp! Gettem, boy!"

There were howls as the moon shone bright and high above beautiful Britain. The centaurs and the werewolves soon clashed. It was hard to pick the outright winner. The centaurs' bows were coming in handy, but the werewolves had the speed and agility, climbing the air as though they were made for it, tails upright, saluting the moon...

Harry intermittently transformed into his griffin Animagus form to confuse Voldemort, running low on the ground like a cheetah one moment, then springing and shooting into the air on his wings the next, then turning back to human and shooting curses behind him.

"That's my boy!" shouted Sirius proudly, unheard by Harry.

On the frequent occasions he cast these spells at Voldemort, he noticed that when Voldemort gauged he would not react in time, he would explode into that ghostly form and then seem faint after transforming back into human form. Indeed he seemed very reluctant to change into his misty form. For that very reason, Harry was doing as much as he could to make sure Voldemort frequently oscillated between spirit and human form. Perhaps because he no longer had any Horcruxes – a fact to which he was oblivious – he would perhaps have such little life or energy or soul left that he would not be able to transform back into human form and be stuck to fight in that smoke-like state.

"_Confringo!_"

"_Deprimo!_"

"_Evanesco!_"

"_Expulso!_ Come on, Tom! Keep up, old sod!"

Most of the centaurs could be found on the floor of the forest, four clinical stripes seemingly seared into their faces, the mark of claws. The few surviving werewolves remarried paw and ground and, arrows still stuck in their backs, they took off for the catastrophe that was the battle between Hogwarts and Voldemort's forces.

There were sudden noises of Apparation around once more. Lupin, Sirius, Tonks, Fletcher, and other Order members were rapidly absorbed in the unfolding war, first taking care of the advancing werewolves and trying to do away with them. Lupin was leading the attack, as he was the one who could risk fighting the werewolves most. Tonks was busy flying around on her broom, seemingly yelling – or rather commanding – at some of the giants...

Suddenly the ground shook. The sky was raining with boulders the size of cars – the giants were throwing them at just about anywhere, huge, four-story-tall giants. What was especially interesting to note was that some of the giants were fighting with each other, throwing dustbin-sized fists at any giant face they could find. It would seem the Order of the Phoenix had a giant team of their own that was fighting against Voldemort's.

There were more noises of Apparation. This time it was Fred and George; if it was pandemonium before their arrival, it was apocalypse after. Explosions came from nowhere, fireworks were blasting left and right. Some students had transformed into Animagi, ripping off limbs, others flying overhead and pestering the Death Eaters, who were careening backwards left, right, and centre. And before anyone knew it, the children were roaring and jumping and down in celebration, most of the Death Eaters at their feet Stunned rather than killed, while the giants beat and outright killed each other. None were standing after all, including Grawp.

The Order had dealt effectively with the werewolves, who were cast on the ground, wounds leaking crimson pools of wolverine blood. Before he knew it, Voldemort was alone, unaware of it as he chased and chased after Harry until he could no longer do so and he was transforming back into human in his exhaustion, unable to switch back to spirit anymore for fear of staying that way, of being that close to inexistence.

But at that point precisely as Voldemort stalked the ground, panting and waving his wand every now and then to cast a curse at Harry, there was a rustling noise, a blur of background, a shiver of silvery olive, and then Draco was standing right in front of Voldemort. Before Harry could scream his warning or Voldemort could take aim, Draco transformed into the most beautiful, brilliantly white unicorn ever seen by Hagrid.

Face covered in streams of blood, Hagrid's eyes turned watery. "Malfoy? That... thing? That can't be right?" he hiccupped, absolutely head over heels.

It was a flash of white, a ghost of a gallop, a burst of sudden speed, and all watched as Voldemort clutched at the finely wrought horn stabbing into the left side of his chest. There was a sudden gasp, a collective gasp, and everyone held their breath.

His fluorescent face scrunched and froze, looking something like burnt sage-coloured plastic. Shuddering, he pulled the horn out of his heart, swayed for a few seconds on his feet as everyone watched, and then fell to the ground, his breath rattling like a Dementor. Draco transformed back to human, slowly walked towards Voldemort, and stared down at him. He faced him properly and put his leg across so that he was standing directly over Voldemort, who below him was spluttering deep red blood, a startling surprise.

"Draco, my pretty catamite..." whispered Voldemort, his eyes narrowing at Draco, freely bleeding.

Draco drew his wand and pointed it down at him, the entire audience enthralled.

And then Draco proclaimed, with the greatest irony, "You took it from me, broke it... My innocence, I break it once more, for you...

"..._Avada Kedavra._"

The blast from his wand was so powerful it made him shudder and sway. The air burned green for the split second it took the curse to hit Voldemort, whose eyes, after a final pleading look at Draco, blurred and bleached and turned a milky white. They shrunk to slits and the eyelids closed the curtains on the Darkest show on earth.

Harry's words of congratulations to Draco were lost in the tumult which followed and which surely could be heard all over Britain. Hogwarts was celebrating the death of Lord Voldemort.

After a tearful Draco released him, overcome by emotion, Harry respectfully left him to it and went to embrace Sirius as a wave of students and teachers and adults swept down the terraces and knocked them off their feet.

"DRACO! DRACO! DRACO! DRACO!" chanted the crowd, floating Harry and Draco on their outstretched hands. Harry reached for Sirius' outstretched hand and was pulled down.

"Why can't anyone ever get through your thick skull?" joked Sirius, rubbing Harry about. "Haven't we told you countless times how dangerous it is to go against forces so vast and dark? Stubborn just like your father, you are! James would pretend he never heard us!"

Harry grinned as he rushed into his arms.

Blaise appeared then, disentangling himself from a random person as the crowd continued to jump up and down and broke into the Hogwarts School Song.

"If it was that easy to kill Voldemort we would've tried a long while ago!" said Blaise, who apparently could not resist and picked up both Harry and Draco in the air, looking as loud and happy as Harry had never seen him.

"Only thing is you were terrified of him!" replied Harry.

"With reason, Potter, with reason!" countered Blaise, bestowing on Harry a full grin for the first time.

"Harry, you bleedin' little snotrag!" sobbed Hagrid's disembodied voice. Harry turned around and his ribs surely cracked as he was thrust into the air and then into an enormous chest, feeling Hagrid's rough beard squeezing into his hair. "Bugger me senseless! I ca' believi'!" Without hesitation he turned on and grabbed Draco and bear-hugged him as well. "Never though' I'd say it of a Malfoy! But blimey that was a good strike, eh? Righ' in the heart!"

"Thanks, Hagrid!" shouted Draco kindly, as a way of saying, 'you can let go now – you're crushing me'.

Hagrid let go of him, tears pouring down into his beard. Before he could ask about Draco being a unicorn, as he surely was about to, for his eyes had gone misty again, Neville barged into the circle and grabbed Harry.

"We did it, Harry! We did it!"

"We couldn't have done it without you, Neville!" said Harry, jumping up and down with him.

"So where is she?" asked Harry. He did not need to elaborate, for Neville pulled on a random chunky arm and into focus the fat girl Fatima Swinehouse whom Parvati had harshly advised to contact Professor Slughorn for weight-loss potions. Swinehouse gave Harry a Hagrid-like hug. Fortunately she was softer in places than Hagrid.

"That was very irresponsible of you, Harry!" said Lupin in a grave voice, but his wide, canine-toothed smile betrayed his true emotions.

"Shut up, Lupin!" advised Harry, jumping into the man's arms. Lupin grunted and broke into laughter.

"We're so proud and grateful of you!" Lupin praised. "And you too, Mr Malfoy!" he said graciously to Draco.

"Please, call me Draco!" replied Draco, offering Lupin a hug, who looked ashamed that Draco had to ask. He heaved Draco up and down in the air like seven-year-old. With a not-so-accidental but disguisable kick to the crown jewels, Draco made it clear that he thought Lupin should get with the times.

"HARRY!" screamed Lavender, rushing forward in excitement, but as soon as she caught platinum-blond hair, she ditched his outstretched arms and threw herself into Draco, who was nearly taken to the ground. "DRACO! YOU BRAVE, HANDSOME GIT!"

"What makes me a git?" questioned Draco.

"Oh!" said Lavender feebly, her cheeks glowing red as she slapped his arm.

"Oi! What about me?" said Harry.

"Hey you!" cried Lavender, and she flung herself into his arms.

"Voldemort did get your point, see?" said Harry to Draco, as Lavender pulled off. Draco and Lavender slapped him silly as if she got the point as well.

As everyone danced and screamed their victory in the air, Harry saw Colin Creevey's brother stalk into his field of vision. Suddenly solemn, Harry went over to him and offered his arm.

"Hey, Dennis," he said, his left cheek twitching.

"I'm sorry about punching you," said Dennis, squinting at his shoes, making a plain effort of avoiding Harry's outstretched arm. "It was mean what I said. I didn't mean it. I was just…"

"I understand, Dennis, I do," replied Harry. "Just forget about it, yeah? Hug?"

Dennis looked up and gave a slight and dim smile. "Yeah."

Harry bent over and hugged him.

"Oh and what's this now?" asked Draco obtrusively, as he turned his attention on them after extracting himself Lavender's ceaseless hugs. "Feeling grateful now, are you? Don't feel like punching him again?"

"Draco, leave him alone," chided Harry, pulling out of the hug and patting Dennis on the back. "He said he was sorry. It wasn't even necessary. And shouldn't you be apologizing for hitting him with your hex?"

"He was attacking you!" protested Draco.

"Yeah but he was—he had a right to!"

"A right to?" deadpanned Draco, folding his arms. "Nobody hurts my boyfriend!"

Dennis interrupted Harry before he could open his mouth and continue the argument. "It's not the time to be talking about this. How about just a truce?"

Draco's eyebrow rose. "You're speaking older than you are. We need more of this – mature first-years, then prefects won't have to run around after them. Truce." He extended his hand, shining palely in the moonlight. Dennis grabbed and shook it. The two smiled at each other.

"Right," said Draco refreshingly. "Hagrid says he'd made a bet with Madam Rosmerta, so we have free Firewhiskey until midnight!"

"What did they bet?" asked Harry, as Dennis slinked back into the crowd.

"Oh just if we all survive to see tomorrow. And if not, well, we don't have to really know otherwise 'cause we'd be dead, won't we?"

They doubled over in laughter.

The celebrations lasted the whole night. Many families whose heads had barricaded them inside their homes crawled out to the festivities of the night. The pubs announced their free beverages, inns slashed prices, and everyone was just extra kind for that night and the days to follow. Harry tasted Firewhiskey for the first time that night and, after about three pints, only then found it remotely satisfying. At first it ripped open his throat raw every time but with the next sip it would be soothed, and the cycle continued so on and on until between him, Draco, Ron, Blaise, and Hermione – if one can believe it – they finished off two crates. Hagrid downed three without any help.

But before he had headed to the extended celebrations and the pubs, and having figured out which and whose wand could allow him to pick up and control an entire lake, Harry had found his splintered wand on the grounds and had made his way to the Headmistress' office, where he found the large portrait of Dumbledore. Dumbledore was sitting on his classic tall-backed chair, and he seemed frozen; his expression never changed – it was just of a genial smile and everlastingly twinkling, deep-blue eyes.

Even Harry as spoke as he repaired his wand with the Elder Wand and stashed the latter in the vault behind the portrait, speaking more to himself than anything, and knowing that Dumbledore was not Stupefied, Dumbledore did not react, but stayed calm and smiling, always looking at a point a little off and behind Harry; indeed, the last time they spoke on his funeral day was the very last time they would ever speak.


	17. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The Death Eaters which were killed were taken to a burial site outside of Hogwarts, while the ones Stunned were arrested and put on trial by the Wizengamot.

The vial Draco had referred to earlier before the Death Eaters had Apparated at their location was indeed a memory, a memory that had slipped past Harry's own memory. After reawakening a Stunned Mitchell Fauss, Harry used the evidence of Dumbledore's memory in Fauss' trial to convict him of at least the attempted murder of Draco Malfoy, thereby fulfilling the promise Dumbledore had made in Draco's room on the fifth floor of Hogwarts: _"You will be spending the following ten years of your youth in Azkaban Prison for the attempted murder of Draco Lucius Malfoy. As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I declare this, and in my personal capacity, I promise it."_

The Wizarding world began the tedious task of rebuilding itself. Soured and tattered relationships were renewed, buildings repaired, and a new government forged. A new Minister of Magic was appointed, his name Rufus Scrimgeour.

Hogwarts was restored as it looked before the epic battle. Snag was Banished, much to Peeves' satisfaction.

Neighbours and volunteers helped each other in repairing their house and their local pubs, no doubt to their advantage, for they probably were their daily – or rather nightly haunts.

Lupin married Nymphadora and had a baby they named Teddy after Nymphadora's father.

Sirius, though enjoying countless fleeting trysts and flings, never married but went on to travel the world, often alongside Harry, Draco, and Ron.

Hagrid indeed went on to marry Madame Maxime and had giant kids far bigger than themselves. They lived in a cozy but elaborate 'hut' on the Isle of Man.

Blaise married a delightful young girl by the name of Pernicious Wesley. She was a half-blood. Harry and Draco attended their lavish wedding. Surprisingly, the shivering, tall, and severe-looking woman Harry had seen in Blaise's family photograph was the same woman making a fountain of tears in the front row as the officiating wizard married them, while the father looked on proudly at his son. Harry had expected the parents – especially the mother – to be less accepting of having a half-blood marrying their son, and expected the wedding to be held in secrecy and with the couple having to elope. Neither was the case, and so Blaise enjoyed his new bride and his parents' support.

Neville eventually did not marry Fatima Swinehouse but met a young lady of a horticulturist whilst travelling in America as a Herbologist. They began a family and settled there. Harry maintained a correspondence with Neville over the years.

Dean's and Seamus' corpses were recovered from the Riddle estate and given a proper funeral burial two days later at Hogwarts. They were buried in the Great Lake, whose previous volume was restored, alongside Professor Dumbledore. The corpses of Parvati Patil, Colin Creevey, and others from Hogsmeade were never found.

"Hermione!" moaned Ron. "That was a j'adoube – I really didn't mean to move it!"

"I've never heard of that thing, Ron! You're making up the rules as you go! Just accept I'm beating you at your own game! You touch it, you move it!"

"You can't invent chess rules!" complained Ron.

"I just did!"

"So why can't I?"

"Because you're not a lady!"

Perhaps being a way for some mysterious deities to punish Ron for what he had done to her, Hermione grew to be controlling, or more controlling – but not overbearing – especially when it came to sex; Ron complained to Harry countless times that he was tired of being the submissive one.

Ron and Hermione married at around twenty-five years old and gave birth – to Ron's dismay – to twin sisters by the names of Gertrude and Parvati Weasley. Their marriages lasted the remainder of their lives.

Harry and Draco found a lavish apartment in Muggle London and moved into it as soon as they turned eighteen and could sign for themselves. Before then they lived in another Malfoy villa based in Ireland. They remained together and later married on 23rd September 2007.

The marriage was not at all rosy and perfect. In fact, Lavender, who remained a close friend and who forced Harry to confide in her, had said once that their marriage was the most tumultuous she had never known (and reported on), as if she kept a diary of all the marriages around her. Chances are she did; she ran _The British Howler_ – a new tabloid newspaper that swept the broadsheet newspaper market and became number one in the country in a matter of a few years.

The rockiest times of Harry and Draco's marriage were right in the beginning when they both seemingly transformed right in front of each other's eyes. It was true they were the same people before the wedding, but it was only after it that Harry then knew of the total impact of Draco's rape experience; Draco, as Hermione was, was inclined to be in the driving seat during sex (Draco was, however, Draco Potter, so he could not outright claim he was the dominant one in the marriage).

Additionally, Harry had to contend with what he called the stupid thing of Draco feeling as though he was not worthy of Harry. Harry went to countless and excessive lengths to prove to Draco that he was a beautiful human being who was as deserving of love and as redeemable as the next person. It was only until Draco had to undergo a radical change in personality, dismantling some of his Slytherin traits – the selfishness, childishness, the intricate vengeful plotting, his trying to push Harry to his limits to see if Harry would finally grow tired and leave him – that he was closer to understanding and accepting what Harry was trying to badger into him. From then on there was more cohesion in the marriage.

Harry did not have any serious issues, except for some of his more annoying habits surfacing, such as taking long walks at night when he was stressed and freaking Draco out every time, such as his indecision of visiting Godric's Hollow, and sometimes, unwittingly, his callous independence; being an orphan and being used to being on your own or having developed selfish and chiseled mechanisms of survival made him seem uncaring of his partner, as though he were in the marriage all by himself. There was, however, one huge problem – a problem that did not merely rock the boat but nearly capsized it: Harry passionately wanted to have a child, someone in his image.

Fortunately Draco grew receptive of the idea after months of explosive arguments, and, fortunately, Harry did get to have his wish, and it was quite simple and ingenious how it happened. The Killing Curse was remarkable in that it left no signs. All it did was snuff the life out of the body and choke it, suspending it time. Therefore, they could easily recover Lily Potter's eggs. After fusing Harry's and Draco's sperms magically, they took it to what was commonly known as the best Muggle hospital in the world somewhere in Cleveland, America, and after the doctors did not catch anything out of the ordinary with the hybrid sperm, performed artificial insemination, and Lily, Narcissa, and Iris Potter were born; Harry and Draco kept Hermione nearby; they knew nothing and wished to know nothing about menstruation, tampons, and all of that. Countless times they lamented having three girls and not even one boy.

In spite of some initial strife, however, Harry and Draco's marriage flourished and became a rich and prosperous one.

Their girls returned to the Wizarding world to as much if not more praise than when Harry had taken his maiden steps beyond platform nine and three-quarters. They eventually persuaded their parents to familiarize themselves with their true home, and so Harry and Draco went back to Wizarding world to a very warm reception and moved into the little cottage in Godric's Hollow in which once lived Harry's parents. They modified it such that it was much larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. And finally, Harry found a deep kind of peace where there was an underlying torment ever since Draco had mentioned Godric's Hollow to him back in his den, and perhaps even ever since he realized he was an orphan.

Harry lived to be one hundred and nine years old. Draco died went on to live for two decades longer. But certainly they had lived their lives fully and without regret.

The End.


End file.
